


This off key song of ours

by Pomiar



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Clone Wars, Hurt/Comfort, Jedi Master Dooku, M/M, Maul gets away, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:13:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24127972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pomiar/pseuds/Pomiar
Summary: Qui-Gon finds Anakin and takes him as an apprentice, but what if Obi-Wan was younger and not ready for the Trials?
Relationships: Dooku & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn & Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 211
Kudos: 494





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This thing has been sitting on my computer for ages and as a beacon of light sent from the Gods above [Chibiobiwan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibiobiwan/pseuds/Chibiobiwan) came to my rescue. Thank you wonderful beta.

“I take Anakin Skywalker as my Padawan learner.” Qui-Gon’s voice boomed in the silence of the room and subsequently deepened it.  


And at first Obi-Wan couldn’t understand the true meaning behind his Master’s statement, it didn’t make sense to him. It couldn’t. But what Master Yoda said next broke him out of his reverie.  


“An apprentice you have.”  


It struck Obi-Wan like a laser blast - it was true. Qui-Gon had an apprentice. He had him. Qui-Gon was abandoning him. After everything, they’ve lived through, after Melida/Daan and Bandomeer, after those rocky few months in the beginning. He thought this was behind them - that Qui-Gon had accepted him. Qui-Gon had promised. His braid was a testament to the challenges they’ve faced. He had promised.  


Obi-Wan looked at his Master, imploring him to not cross this one last bridge. They’d fought through so much to keep their partnership that Obi-Wan had secretly hoped that by now had become a friendship. Qui-Gon was giving it away though, trading it, trading him for a better, newer student. In a wheezing gasp, it stole his breath away. Had it always been this fragile— the trust between them?  


Beneath the mortification and indignation of the Council's refusal, Qui-Gon saw a challenge and Obi-Wan recognised it in the curve of his mouth and the set of his eyes even before he spoke.  


“A Jedi’s life requires sacrifice,” Qui-Gon paused. Master Windu’s eyes stopped on his apprentice. Obi-Wan could feel the heavy weight of that stare, but at that moment, he couldn't turn away from his Master anymore than he could’ve detonated the tower.  


Here, his Master finally looked at him. “Obi-Wan will understand.” And there it was. Qui-Gon’s gaze, imploring Obi-Wan to in turn do so. And oh, Obi-Wan understood his Master so very well. His heart swelled with intimate knowledge of Qui-Gon. It was full to the brim with fragments of kind blue eyes and a warm hand across his shoulders. Stolen moments carefully tucked away.  


But the child was something unexpected. Anakin tugged at Qui-Gon’s heart strings and awoke in him effortlessly what Obi-Wan had fought tooth and nail for. Whether it was a premonition or Obi-Wan’s regard for his Master’s skill, he felt a deep certainty that this child wouldn’t thrive without Qui-Gon.  


Robbed of a choice in the matter, Obi-Wan nodded stiffly, his hands did not tremble in his sleeves as he searched for Yoda amongst the faces all set on him now. Was it pity that he saw in them? He straightened and said, “I accept my Mast…Master Qui-Gon’s decision,” before all hell broke loose around him.

* * *

Two times summoned by the Council in just as many days was a new personal best for Obi-Wan and under other circumstances, he would’ve liked to find it funny. As it stood, he only felt dread, if anything at all. What he had said in the last meeting he attributed to his ever fading courage. And anyway, it had been better this way, better to agree with Qui-Gon than to have to hear his old Master say the words out loud. The words a thirteen-year-old Padawan had awoken to sweaty and with a heartbeat thumping loudly in his ears. _Not good enough._  


But now, when his fate was to be decided even that courage was fast abandoning him. He wanted to move, to pace back and forth in front of the door, but he was too aware that he would be called in at any moment, and as it stood his prospects were pathetic even without looking like a nervous wreck.

  
So Obi-Wan stood still, trying to focus on his inner calm and find in himself that thirteen-year-old boy who would’ve fought with his life for this one last chance. Eighteen-year-old Obi-Wan had to ask himself, was it worth it at all? His own Master had… But Obi-Wan vehemently stopped that thought in its tracks before it could echo in his mind, but even so, like thunder after lightning, it brought pain with it that spiked down his chest.

  
He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing until he heard someone approaching. Obi-Wan turned to politely greet the newcomer as his manners were ingrained in him since the creche, but froze instantly. Qui-Gon stood next to him, facing the door.

  
For all those five years of his apprenticeship, he had valued their moments together. The moments when master and padawan had been silent together, each just content to be by the other’s side. On the moon of Narma – a failed mission on a beautiful desolate place- Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon had stood side by side, very much the same way they were now, both trapped in their grief silently gathering strength from one another. Oh, how different it felt now. The silence – thick with fear - suffocated Obi-Wan. His ears were ringing; he desperately wanted Qui-Gon to speak or to never utter another word to him again. _Please_ , he begged in his mind, not knowing for what and to whom – himself or his old Master. There had to be more to this. Any minute now and Obi-Wan would crack and demand a reason.

  
“Obi-Wan--“ Qui-Gon began.

  
The door opened.

* * *

“It was a Sith,” Mace began once the formalities were over.

Obi-Wan knew that Mace and Depa Billaba had been sent to finish the mission on Naboo after Qui-Gon’s stunt. The Council had adamantly refused to allow Qui-Gon to go on his own with only young Skywalker as a backup to finish what he had started. To Obi-Wan though, it had seemed, at least a little bit, like a punishment and by the looks of his old Master back then, so had he.

  
“He got away,” Master Windu finished briskly, a displeased frown making him look even sterner than usual.

  
”Then we have to find him,” Qui-Gon said.

  
“Yes, we are on it,” Mace almost smiled pleasantly. “Unfortunately, you will be indisposed as your new Padawan is currently too young to pursue such missions, Master Jinn, ” And, then as an afterthought, added, “Or any at all.”

  
Obi-Wan could almost hear the grinding of Qui-Gon’s teeth, but instead of replying the Master merely bowed, fully aware of his delicate situation, one wrong move could mean trouble for Anakin. Even now, when they had gathered for Obi-Wan, his old Master thought of his new Padawan. Never before had his Master listened to the Council as easily as he did just now. Jealousy was an ugly thing, so Obi-Wan, disturbed, tried to rein it in.

  
“Gathered here, we are not, for this,” Yoda spoke finally as if reading Obi-Wan’s thoughts. He turned to look straight at him, his eyes gentle. “Young Kenobi’s fate, decide, we must.”

  
“Surely there are plenty of Masters that can take Obi-Wan as an apprentice,” Qui-Gon intercepted, sounding certain of himself. It should’ve been reassuring to Obi-Wan as well, but it just didn’t feel that way. Nothing Qui-Gon could say would ever feel the same to him after all of this was settled.

  
“It takes time, Master Jinn,” said Ki-Adi- Mundi reproachfully. “Your reputation certainly hasn’t helped the matter, and, in fact, many Masters are concerned whether young Padawan Kenobi is as...” he hesitated, “Willing to bend the rules as you are.”  
“No…Obi-Wan is not…surely you know that.” His old Master paled and Obi-Wan knew that once again Qui-Gon hadn’t thought of the consequences of his actions, or at least where Obi-Wan was concerned. The pain bloomed in his chest once more and he did everything in his power to ignore it and instead focus on the Council.

  
“You tossing him aside for a new Padawan also did not help,” Mace added, making Qui-Gon wince, and Obi-Wan take a deep stuttering breath that whistled through his clenched teeth.

 _Say something_ he implored Qui-Gon, the thought racking in his mind. Say it is not the truth. Qui-Gon merely kept his head held high, defiance etched in his features – his posture proud - the fight not quite leaving him, but knowing better than to speak right now.

  
“Masters,” Obi-Wan finally spoke, for someone had to. “If there are no willing … candidates I am fully prepared to step down,“ And he would. Obi-Wan would quit the Jedi with his head held high.

  
“Don’t be so brash with your future, Padawan Kenobi,” a new voice echoed in the room, startling not only Obi-Wan but a few of the Councillors as well.

  


Someone had entered unnoticed by the Padawan and now clasped his hands on his shoulders.

  
“Masters, if I may speak?”

  
“Speak you may, Master Dooku,” Yoda nodded. Obi-Wan turned slightly to see Qui-Gon and noticed that he himself looked as shocked by the turn of events as Obi-Wan felt, so it wasn’t his old Master that had summoned Dooku.  
“Masters,” Dooku took on the stage with the grace of a seasoned diplomat. “As you may very well know Master Jinn was my Padawan,” He paused to look at every awaiting face that opposed him. “That makes young Kenobi my Grandpadawan and I’d like to claim the right to finish his training. As he is of my lineage, I feel my claim should come with higher priority than any of the other Masters. And, most importantly, it'll be an easier transition for the boy, as I am intimately familiar with Master Jinn's character.”

Obi-Wan felt hysterical laughter bubbling inside him - no one had wanted him, so Dooku shouldn’t have worried.

  
Silence followed as the Council considered the offer. Obi-Wan could only wait helplessly as they decided his fate.

  
“Very well,” Yoda said, the others only nodding their agreement. And before Obi-Wan could even process it, Dooku was standing before him - a rare sight for he hadn’t seen his Grandmaster ever since he had been fourteen and slightly scared of the tall imposing man. Dooku bowed ceremoniously to him, and with some aplomb asked: “Will you, Padawan Kenobi, agree to be my apprentice?”

  
Obi-Wan considered it. Dooku had never been a part of his life, and from what he had heard from Qui-Gon, he was a difficult man to get along with. And yet...

  
Obi-Wan steeled himself, now was not the time to gawk like an idiot. Why should he believe in anything Qui-Gon had ever said. He could see for himself where this proposal could take him. With that in mind, he answered, glad his voice did not shake. “Yes… Master.”

  
Dooku, looking pleased, straightened, nodded once and with a whirl headed for the door. “Come on then, Padawan.”

  
Obi-Wan bowed stiffly to the Council and had to quicken his stride to catch up with the older Jedi. However, Dooku stopped before exiting the room. “Both my Padawans, please.” He added expectantly.

  
There was a beat of silence and then the echo of footsteps.

  
Obi-Wan knew his old Master was following. He had a bad feeling about this, using the title of Padawan had been a jab at Qui-Gon in front of the Council.

  
“Care to explain what you were thinking? I was out all the way on Kessel when I heard that my Padawan had abandoned the boy he’d been training.” The moment the doors closed Dooku’s stern voice cracked through the hall.

  
“I did n—”

  
“I, thinking it impossible, rushed to prove the rumors wrong,” Dooku turned on Qui-Gon. “And what do I find when I arrive?”

  
“The Force bade me to make a choice,” Qui-Gon’s carefully controlled voice would have sounded neutral to those who didn’t know him. “The boy-“

  
“Ah yes, the boy.” The old Master hummed, crossing his arms. “Did you know that by now the whole Temple knows of him and his supposed origin? Were you even thinking? That would do nothing but hinder his development. Were you even in your right mind, to act so foolishly?”

  
“Anakin would’ve washed out as an Initiate, no one would’ve taken him!” Qui-Gon almost sneered at his Master, the steel in his voice making it cold and fierce.

  
“But we are not talking about him now are we?”

  
Whatever retort Qui-Gon had died on his tongue, the fight leaving him.

  
“Ah, you seem to often forget that,” Dooku said, like adding salt to an open wound, he relentlessly pushed on, “Don’t worry, I will fix your mistake. But that mistake is certainly not Obi-Wan.”

  
Maybe those words would’ve soothed Obi-Wan before, but now, as it stood, he was too busy waiting. Waiting for Qui-Gon to deny, to explain himself.

  
It never came. Qui-Gon stood there, defiance etched into his very posture. He’d fight with Dooku if he had to, Obi-Wan realized. The boy meant so much to him. Obi-Wan tried not to make a comparison to his beginnings as a Padawan and his budding relationship with his Master. He failed miserably.

  
Qui-Gon looked at him as if expecting absolution. Or maybe a curse thrown his way. Obi-Wan held that stare, not granting either.

  
He realised he had nothing to say to his old Master. In fact, he hadn’t spoken a single word to Qui-Gon since that night. Nothing would ever make this right and this path ahead might've been chosen for him without his consent, but he had no intention to show Qui-Gon how much it had hurt. There was nothing that could fix this. He squared his shoulders and bore that stare, that tried to look into his soul once again. No, never again.

  
“Come, Padawan.” Dooku finally addressed Obi-Wan, breaking him out of his reverie, and with one last look at Qui-Gon, one last heartache, they both left him there standing alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here I offer my eternal gratitude and first newborn puppy to my wonderful beta [Chibiobiwan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibiobiwan/pseuds/Chibiobiwan)

_Obi-Wan woke all at once, trying to keep his breathing calm and quiet. He had no wish to wake the other denizen of the little hut - a hut with flimsi thin walls and two inhabitants with flimsi thin dreams. So Obi-Wan, knowing it was useless to try and go back to sleep, quietly got up from his little sleeping coach, his feet feeling the cold that had soaked through the floor in the unforgiving night of the desert. He navigated effortlessly through the dark, found the door with a broken sensor, his hand touching the indent on its surface, and with one fluid push, opened the blasted thing to let the night air cool his unrelenting thoughts._

_Outside was worse - the cold biting deep - but the stars spread out in a dazzling canopy. Obi-Wan finally took a shuddering deep breath and let himself get lost in the radiance above. He buried his feet in the sand and just stood there, a lone figure in the dark._

_He hadn’t dreamt of his apprenticeship in a long time, usually, it was war and desolation that plagued his dreams, a fire burnt planet - a fire burnt body. He shivered._

_A noise from inside told him he hadn’t been as unnoticed as he would’ve liked. A sigh tore from his chest and with one last look at the starry sky, he went back in._

  


Obi-Wan reflected one more blast with his saber, the power of it vibrating something fierce down to the handle, his cold fingers only tightening around it more firmly. The tight space of one of the ship’s maintenance corridors was hardly enough place for the true potential of his weapon. Still, Obi-Wan took a defensive stance, his back to his Master, knowing with certainty that the other man was working on the door as the pirates were nearing. They were so close to escaping, their ship just behind—

Another shot. At least the pirates themselves didn’t want to risk the narrow space and ricocheting blasts, so they aimed carefully and predictably.

“Master,” Obi-Wan warned as the three of the bunch neared him enough for close combat. Three he could probably take on, the rest were going to prove a hindrance.

“Almost there.”

Obi-Wan pushed, the Force eddying around him. One man fell back, hitting the other straight behind him, both tumbling down. The Padawan swung his blade once more. It was almost clumsy and the pirate easily dodged, throwing him a satisfied smile as he did. Obi-Wan gritted his teeth irritably. His moves these days were growing not uncertain but unbalanced, for he was used to the rhythm of another’s blade.

He always knew what to make of Qui-Gon’s antics or how long it would take for him to break a standard lock. The ones used on old ships, such as this, proved no challenge for the maverick Master. Now, that knowledge was useless to him as was his devotion to the man.

He had built his fighting style and way of life around his Master, and now that had all been shaken and turned on its head. Obi-Wan felt like he had been edging on a tightrope like the acrobats he had seen on Alderaan once, presenting for a royal ceremony. A strong wind had come and tumbled them all down, so fragile had been their balance.

He was out of balance now and he feared it had started to show. A small, hurt part of him wondered whether Qui-Gon even considered how hard it would be on Obi-Wan to be suddenly uprooted from him and thrown towards another Master. A firmer voice inside his head contradicted with the cold facts: Qui-Gon didn't care. In fact, he hadn't bothered with Obi-Wan after that fateful Council meeting at all.

Another shot threw him back into the moment. The pirates—more of them now—kept on pushing towards them.

_What if he failed? How long would it take for Dooku to open the door? Would Dooku leave without him?_

Dooku played by a different set of rules. His new Master finally unlocked the door, it whooshing slowly.

Dooku came back to him, his blade eerily lighting his face in shades of blue.

“Ready, apprentice?” he asked casually.

Obi-Wan tried to be calm and collected, he had to find his center. He had to push away his anxieties, that had been plaguing him since that day at the Council chamber three months ago, down and clear his troubled mind. He took a deep breath and stilled his presence in the Force as much as he could. “Ready,” he uttered just as reinforcements of the pirates were streaming in.

  


* * *

Obi-Wan could feel Dooku watching him, adding stiffness to his moves. He finished the kata and, instead of moving to the next, turned expectantly towards his Master.

“We need to go,” Dooku stood with his arms crossed.

Was he unhappy with Obi-Wan? The Padawan couldn’t tell, but there was a lot about his new teacher that was a mystery to him.

The second time Obi-Wan felt that stare crawling up his back, he was sparring with another Padawan. A momentary lapse in judgment and Obi-Wan had the tip of a saber a finger’s width away from his throat. Dooku beckoned him over and Obi-Wan braced for his displeasure. Something was troubling Dooku that much was certain – something to do with him.

“Spar with me, Padawan,” the Master gracefully unhooked his lightsaber off his belt and ignited it. Obi-Wan took a stance and a second later attacked. One, two, three moves into the fight and it was over. Obi-Wan, once again, bested—twice in a row now. He tried not to slump his shoulders in defeat.

Dooku sighed, “Come, we need to talk,” and didn’t even turn to see if Obi-Wan was following as his long legs took him out of the salle.

The Master unceremoniously barged into the first private meditation chamber he set eyes on. Wincing and praying no one had been occupying the room, his apprentice entered as well. One meaningful gesture later, Obi-Wan was on his knees on a mat, facing Dooku, who had done the same. Feeling the warmth of the sunlight streaming from the giant window on his face, Obi-Wan wondered, were they going to meditate on something concerning his recurring losses in the training salle? Obi-Wan was well aware that he had been sparring with the grace of a three legged bantha for a while now.

“Apprentice,” Dooku began long-suffering, “tell me about the mission on Corellia.”

Surprised, Obi-Wan looked up from the ground he had been resolutely staring at. Corellia had been different. Dooku had been incapacitated by the emergency landing the ship crew had performed and as result, it had been up to Obi-Wan to navigate through the difficult negotiations, adding to that a few scuffles with the locals, and it had been more than a tiring challenge for the both of them. Not to mention it was only their third mission together.

Obi-Wan told his Master as much, Dooku only nodding along with satisfaction.

“Now, with that out of the way, tell me, apprentice - do you see a pattern there?”

“I’m sorry where?” Obi-Wan blinked owlishly.

“In your recent failing performance on the field, and in your training.” The Padawan winced, the dread taking a hold of his heart and squeezing softly with every heartbeat. That was it, wasn’t it? Dooku would give him up, maybe Qui-Gon had been right in getting rid of him, maybe it had been all for nothing-

“I can hear you thinking, Obi-Wan, forget all that, and just analyse.”

So Obi-Wan did, he truly tried to distance himself from his own failures, but it was like wading through tar, inky black and suffocating, it kept pulling him back over and over.

Dooku watched him struggle, his face imperceptible. After a few minutes, all Obi-Wan had achieved was to feed the fears eating at his crackling self-confidence.

“Okay, Padawan,” Dooku finally said softly. “Maybe you need a little help to see something I’ve been noticing for a while now. Corellia was an instance, in which you took control over a situation that, quite frankly, was bordered on ridiculous with how many things went wrong. You did outstanding, on a level befitting a young Jedi Knight. However, it has come to my attention that whenever you are under my scrutiny, your skills take a deep dive, my Padawan.”

Obi-Wan stared dumbly at his Master. He was lacking in many areas, but surely it wasn’t only in front of Dooku.

“Your teachers have nothing but praise, a balm to my worried soul, but, my young apprentice, you cannot seem to find your calm when around me, and that needs to be rectified before we are sent on a mission where your lack proves a hindrance, do you understand?”

Obi-Wan hurriedly nodded, desperate to hear how he could repair this grave mistake. _Maybe Qui-Gon had had a reason after all, had he been as negligent with his old master as with the new one? Maybe Qui-Gon just hadn’t wished to tell him. Did he deserve a second chance?_

“Answer me this, Padawan, why do you find it so important to always tailor yourself to my expectations?” Dooku snapped Obi-Wan out of his spiraling thoughts.

“Master?”

Dooku sighed. “You’ve probably been told this before, and under the stress of some recent events it has begun manifesting more and more, but you cannot always please me.”

The Padawan was stunned. This was it, the moment Dooku got rid of him. The Master’s eyes gentled, however. “You trying only displeases me, young one.”

“Following his Master is every Padawan’s priority,” Obi-Wan tried to be reasonable, he could try and argue his case. “I just can’t seem to…”

“Yes, Padawan?”

“To follow correctly, Master.”

“Ah, and there it is!” Obi-Wan just looked at him blankly.

“You need to focus on yourself, not on me,” Dooku said softly. “You first need to become the best version of yourself, before you mold yourself into what it is needed.This is what your Padawan years are for. I guess with your...unorthodox training thus far, we, your teachers have confused you. Simply put, my Padawan – I want you to follow, true, but I need you to be the one people want to follow first.”

* * *

Obi-Wan had time to think about what his Master had said to him that day in the meditation room. The words were stuck in his head but brought neither relief nor anguish. So Dooku didn’t want to get rid of him, but, frankly speaking, Obi-Wan had no idea how he could achieve what his Master had envisioned for him. Was it to stop following orders? No, that was actually ridiculous and the Padawan quickly dismissed that idea entirely. The best version of himself sounded like a faraway concept, a voice far in the distance he could barely hear. There was no singular version of him. Each day he grew different. Was it for the best though?

Once, he’d be inclined to agree. He had been getting better out on the field. But ever since Tatooine, he didn’t know what to think. Or so he told himself, to hide the truth of his failure. Deep down he feared he was getting worse. So plagued was Obi-Wan with his fears, some he barely recognized even himself, he could hardly focus on his strengths the way Dooku clearly expected him to.

He would spend every free minute of his day in the training rooms, almost in a trance while performing katas or sparring with other Padawans. He’d bring himself to the brink of exhaustion, feebly chasing an ideal that he’d foolishly birthed in his head – the perfect Padawan. Was that what Dooku wanted, the man was a legend in the Temple, surely it all had been just a nice way of informing him of what he must achieve to become worthy of his place by the Master’s side.

“You, my dear friend, are going to poke someone’s eye out with all that waving around,” a voice laughed behind him. Obi-Wan, startled, spun quickly, overbalancing and almost toppling on the ground, swinging his saber uselessly in front of the strange Jedi.

The giant besalisk just grinned at him – all sharp teeth showing.

“I’m sorry, are you in need of something, Master…?” The Padawan asked not too gently, suspiciously eyeing his companion.

“Ah, where indeed are my manners,” the besalisk used one of his four arms to clap himself on the forehead, while simultaneously offering another for Obi-Wan to shake. His grip was firm and he almost unhinged Obi-Wan’s arm from his shoulder as he enthusiastically shook it.

“Master Rish, at your service, Padawan Kenobi I presume? You’ve been living here for the better part of a few months now, any longer and you’ll become the Temple’s new ghost.” And due to the confused look of his companion, he added, “Words travel fast amongst these walls.”

Obi-Wan felt himself blush, “I am sorry if I’ve troubled you or any Master in charge-“

“No, no, don’t apologise, child,” Master Rish clapped the teenager on the shoulder and almost bowed him down. “You clearly need to figure out this thing you are fighting with. Now, if you are in need of help,” the Master said, looking hopefully at Obi-Wan.

“I don’t know…it is hardly worth…” The Padawan trailed, he had no desire to inconvenience any of the Masters with his own problems and ardently wished for the well-meaning besalisk to just stop registering his presence and go on with the rest of his day.

“A duel!” exclaimed said besalisk with so much fervour a few other Padawans turned to look at them sheepishly.

* * *

Obi-Wan knew he was doomed to fail, but not how spectacularly well he would do so. Down on the ground, panting heavily, sweat soaking his clothes, he feebly tried to stand once more but gave up on that idea as impossible after only a half-hearted attempt. He heard footsteps and suddenly the massive hand of his sparring partner was hauling him up, Obi-Wan’s legs almost gave out beneath him.

“That was very informative, Padawan,” Rish said cheerfully. Obi-Wan doubted it. He had made a bantha’s ass of himself in front of the Master, to whom it had taken only a few hits to disarm the Padawan again and again, over and over. “You don’t seem to agree now, do you?”

“I just find it hard to believe,” retorted Obi-Wan, catching his breath.

“Tell you what youngling, if you land a hit, I’ll share with you what you need to know.”

Obi-Wan looked skeptical, but raised his blade nevertheless – to train with a master was a rare opportunity, not to be carelessly thrown away due to his hurt pride.

He rushed into it once more, the Force singing through him, but Rish parried with seemingly no trouble at all. From below, from above – neither left nor right worked. Obi-Wan jumped over the besalisk but was not fast enough.

“You are not listening to yourself,” the Master spun his lightsaber and, startlingly fast for a creature his size, was at Obi-Wan’s side. He didn’t even use his weapon as he grabbed the Padawan by his arms, pinning them to his sides, and easily picked him off the ground.

Obi-Wan froze, dropping his saber.

“Listen,” Rish said squeezing lightly and gently putting the boy down. “Again!”

The Padawan picked his weapon off the ground. Listen. That sounded so easy, but the more he kept on listening to the insistent voices in his head screaming at him for being so inadequate, the more he faltered in his every step.

So he did the opposite. Frustrated with himself - he stopped listening.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and focused on the sounds surrounding him. The younger Padawans had gathered to his left and were practicing with an old model of a Marksman training remote. The small droid had just stung one of them and the peals of laughter fizzled near him. The clashing of sabers in the distance, the chatter of the Masters watching nearby - all fused together, and beneath it all the Force was quiet as if with bated breath it watched, waiting for Obi-Wan’s next move.

So the Padawan took a stance, raised his blade, and…he too waited, listening to that silence the Force offered him.

Master Rish smiled knowingly and attacked.

This time however Obi-Wan held up. He crossed sabers with the Master, and there! He parried the next hit with grace. Rish’s smile disappearing, a frown of concentration instead gracing his face. Rish still won, but Obi-Wan could tell he hadn’t been holding back in the end. Both were breathing heavily.

“My price then,” Obi-Wan grinned. There were singe marks on the Master’s tunic.

Resh smiled in turn. “Come back tomorrow, same time.”

Excited, Obi-Wan nodded.

And so they fought. Day after day, Obi-Wan would head to the salles after lunch and spar with Master Rish. It was wild and unpredictable. Rish allowed Obi-Wan to spar however he wanted, never saying a word, never criticizing nor praising. The Padawan tried it all. Fast and unrestrained movements, acrobatics, quick and sure striking. But he always came back to that quiet he had felt the first day. It had felt right. So, he focused on it after exhausting himself with all manners of fighting styles and everything he had learned. He focused on it and it clicked. He got better and faster. It felt natural to him.

One day, after finishing a tiring spar, Rish got a contemplative look on his face and stopped Obi-Wan from leaving for his studies later this afternoon.

“Padawan, have you ever thought of switching styles?”

* * *

They fought once again. Two months had passed since their first meeting and they were a known duo in the fighting ring. Master Rish by now had learned to not underestimate Obi-Wan, and after a certain change had been made, the Padawan could feel himself growing stronger and surer in his stance against his opponent.

Obi-Wan could parry and block all the moves his opponent made easily, true they had been about it for weeks and he had some familiarity with the Master’s style, but with his mind emptied the Force was no longer silent - it sang through his saber – parry, turn, evade, parry. A crowd formed around them. He had found a song inside that emptiness in him and had enriched it from the few notes to something stronger. Push here, spin, don’t let Master Rish recover, attack only when you need. Parry, preserve strength. Don’t let the Master break your stance, stay firmly on your feet. He _knew_ Master Rish, certainly any moment his right side would remain open...

Instead, Master Rish resorted to his physical strength and managed to wield down Obi-Wan by sheer force alone. As he was a bigger and stronger opponent - it wasn’t so difficult. But it had been a desperate move.

Panting, the Padawan looked up at the Master, smiling. He may have lost the fight, but not the duel. Rish’s head tipped back and he laughed heartily. “I think you may have found your strength, Padawan.”

* * *

“Well, Padawan,” Dooku said inquisitively, quirking an eyebrow.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath. “Duel me, Master.”

They were back at the training rooms, Obi-Wan had practically pushed Dooku in his excitement on the way there. Dooku, amused, had followed obediently, sensing the change in his apprentice.

“Alright,” Dooku lit his saber. Obi-Wan did the same and took a defensive soresu stance. His Master raised his brows questioningly. The Padawan smiled and for the first time in a while truly felt it. _This_ , this was his and his alone, and, for once, change felt wonderful.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a bird! It's a plane! No. it's the best beta in the world [Chibiobiwan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibiobiwan/pseuds/Chibiobiwan)

_Obi-Wan liked to spend Empire Day in Mos Eisley, away from the hut. He’d get stupidly drunk if he could, but most of the time he just sought out trouble, or trouble found him. There were always young idealists, trying to ruin the celebration, that got themselves on the wrong side of the law. Even on a backwater planet such as Tatooine, the celebrations were lavish and the troopers stationed plentiful in numbers._

_Obi-Wan would seek out the most daring of the drunken sods and attempt to stop them from picking fights with the soldiers. It usually ended with him beaten up in an alley, but he’d allow them to do it even if it’s just to let them vent in a way that would not get them killed. Empire lackey – they’d brand him, step on his back as he laid in the sand, its taste in his mouth, his ribs creaking from the pressure. They’d kick him a few times, take his credits, if he had any that day, and leave him there, at the back of some of the few taverns of the town._

_In the morning Obi-Wan would get up slowly, his bones creaking with pain and he’d make the miserable way back to his home, knowing it had still been a better way to spend the celebrations than what he could expect to find back at the hut._

_Anakin is strong in the Force, he can easily win_ , was what Qui-Gon kept repeating to himself over and over as he watched his Padawan fight. Anakin was indeed doing incredible – recently back from an exhausting mission that had taken longer than anyone thought it would – he had entered the annual Padawan sparring competition and reached the semi-finals with ease.

Now though the young twi’lek he was facing was proving a challenge. Both of them skilled with the saber - it was only a battle of wills. Qui-Gon and almost all of the current residents of the Temple waited patiently as the battle of wills unfolded in the arena.

_Anakin is strong in the Force, he can easily win_. Qui-Gon had latched desperately onto the mantra that kept playing like a broken message in his head. He knew something bad was going to happen even before it did. _Anakin is strong in the Force, he just needs to wait._

But Anakin did not. Instead, the twi’lek started to push onto the thirteen-year-old, forcing him to take a defensive stance in the fight. Each push—a step backwards for Anakin. He gritted his teeth with the effort of keeping his opponent at bay. It didn’t work.

In a moment it all happened – Anakin lost his concentration, his guard slipped – the twi’lek went for the point and before he knew it, had flown half-way down the arena, landing with a sickening crack. Anakin’s hand in front of him, his face a grimace of anger.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes, pained.

* * *

They walked side by side to their apartment. Anakin wouldn’t look him in the eyes, his shoulders slumped. Qui-Gon opened the door and entered.

“You know using the Force was forbidden,” Qui-Gon said quietly the moment the door was closed. It was not a question. Anakin stiffened and bowed his head, but only for a moment then he raised it, anger and fear criss-crossing their bond, fizzling through the connection. Qui-Gon tried to counter it with warm affection, but he himself felt troubled at what had transpired on the salle.

“Master, I just…” There was still defiance etched on the Padawan’s features, but he trailed off unable to continue.

“Explain yourself to me,” Qui-Gon almost pleaded. “Was winning so important? You should be lucky you only got disqualified, but that boy is at the Healers, Anakin.” His voice had risen and he fought desperately for control.

“I am sorry,” the Padawan muttered, sounding sincere, but Qui-Gon knew better – Anakin was sorry for upsetting him, but not for his actions.

“Listen to me, Padawan,” Qui-Gon’s voice gentled and he put his arm on the boy’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. “In a real situation, what you did may have saved your life, but here you had to follow the rules, you hurt that Padawan. Badly.”

“I know, Master.” Anakin looked at him imploringly. “And besides, I didn’t want to hurt him, I just wanted to push him away, but instead I lost…control.”

Control. One thing Anakin sorely lacked and the thing that simply defined a Jedi. Qui-Gon sighed. “I know you did, but you can’t put others at risk like that. You’ll practice your control of the Force with me, and only me. Understood?”

Anakin hurriedly nodded.

“You are not off the hook though, Padawan,” Qui-Gon turned away from his apprentice “I recently heard Master Nu is in search of a helping hand down at the Archives, maybe you would like to help her in between all the meditation you’ll be filling your time with. Consider yourself lucky.”

“I just…wanted you to be proud of me,” Anakin barely whispered, making Qui-Gon freeze and turn around again to look at the boy.

“What do you mean?” But Anakin stayed resolutely silent, looking at his own shoes.

“Padawan?” Qui-Gon lifted the boy’s chin gently. “What do you mean by that?”

“I wanted to win to make you proud as he did,” Anakin said, his cheeks going red.

“I don’t quite understand.”

“It’s just…all the Masters always have nothing but praise for Obi-Wan. In class they always speak of him so highly,“ Anakin murmured. “So I thought maybe by winning I could make you feel proud of me.” Anakin got more frustrated and blushed to the very tips of his ears as if just sharing this bit of information had physically pained him.

Qui-Gon sighed. He should’ve known. This jealousy was not new. He’d sensed it in his Padawan a few times before when someone would mention his old apprentice. It flared like an old wound would, deep and cutting to the bone. He should have a word with Anakin’s teachers.

He hadn’t thought of Obi-Wan. No, he hadn’t allowed himself to think of him for a very long time now. It had been years since they parted ways and at first, Qui-Gon had followed the boy’s progress every chance he got.

But Dooku had learned and quickly whisked Obi-Wan away and hid all information from Qui-Gon. Dooku continued to punish him for he had not forgiven his former Padawan for what he had done and no amount of excuses, no amount of pleading reached his heart.

Qui-Gon had managed to kill two relationships that day.

Still, Obi-Wan hadn’t left his thoughts so easily, and Anakin had sensed that. The boy kept fighting with the shadow of his predecessor insistently and desperately. Qui-Gon had to put an end to this. And so he had buried the memories of Obi-Wan.

“Anakin, there hasn’t been a moment, since you got here, that I haven't been proud of your achievements. If you’ll only look at how far you’ve come all by yourself, you’ll understand why it makes me so proud to call myself your Master. Please, believe me when I say it.”

Anakin smiled sheepishly at him, blushing once more – this time with pleasure.

“Come now,” Qui-Gon beckoned. “We have a long time to fill with meditation practice.”

The Padawan’s smile quickly evaporated.

* * *

They’d met in the Temple a few times – Obi-Wan had grown, his braid was longer, his gait calm. Dooku and Qui-Gon had exchanged pleasantries. Qui-Gon had tried to speak with Obi-Wan once or twice, but Obi-Wan had deflected, sharing no information other than about the weather, the political climate, or the Temple gossip. He’d learned that from Dooku no doubt. Qui-Gon could already see less of his own teachings and more of those of his old Master reflected in the behavior of Obi-Wan. An ache had nestled in his heart and crawled down to the pit of his stomach.

He had promised to see Obi-Wan knighted, but now it was someone else’s pleasure to cut off that braid.

He had asked Obi-Wan to sacrifice his teaching and possibly, for a dreadful moment in the Council chambers, his place in the Order, for Qui-Gon’s beliefs. The boy was so brave he marveled, but then he always remembered that he had another to guide and respect now, and so left Obi-Wan’s ghost in the night.

In his darkest hours, Qui-Gon would admit only to himself that maybe he had made a mistake and wondered what if he hadn’t given away one Padawan for the chance of another. He knew better. Anakin had had only him from the moment he stepped on Temple grounds. Obi-Wan had had the whole of the Temple behind him. And so it had been the lesser of two evils. To let the Chosen one go, no training, weak and angry just so he can stumble into the hands of the Sith Lord was unthinkable.

Still, even now members of the Jedi Council and fellow Jedi would judge him and often treat him with mistrust. It had taken a long time for Mace and Adi to start talking to him again and even longer for the Council’s punishment of no missions to wear off.

He missed Obi-Wan and only in his moments of weakness allowed himself to sink into that misery. Punishing himself as he allowed the pain to consume him. And he wondered how Obi-Wan truly felt, but he shoved such thoughts back in a far corner of his troubled mind. He would listen to the Force and the Force had guided him to Anakin, even if it was a heavy weight to carry - his sins towards his previous apprentice dragging him down at every step.

* * *

Dooku wasn’t a cruel man. He sent Qui-Gon a message to inform him of Obi-Wan’s trials.

“ _He has passed easily_ ,” it finished with. And Qui-Gon felt joy bloom in his chest. One of those unexpected, fast, and all-consuming feelings. That joy was quickly overtaken by apprehension.

Qui-Gon left their apartment, fully aware of how late it was on Coruscant. He knew where to go. Dooku had left instructions for him. The eastern wing of the Temple. He passed all the empty halls and closed rooms and stopped in front of the one belonging to the Dooku-Kenobi duo.

He lifted his arm to knock and froze. He couldn’t do it.

_Breathe, old fool_ , he thought to himself and took a few minutes to compose himself. He came all the way here to do what exactly? Congratulate Obi-Wan? He had not cut that braid, but he had promised to a hopeful Initiate on the verge of unjustly washing up. Qui-Gon lowered his arm.

He was a fool and a coward.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emotionally constipated Jedi brought to you thanks to the wonderful Chibiobiwan

_Obi-Wan visited Luke alone. Beru was, as always, a polite and cordial host, but Obi-Wan felt her mistrust and fear looming at the table they were seated on. Luke barely registered his presence at all, not that Obi-Wan expected anything else. The only reason he was still allowed in was because Luke was too young to take notice of these visits, rare as they might’ve been._

_“The heat doesn’t do you any favours, Ben,” Beru clicked her tongue. Obi-Wan smiled sadly._

The day Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had to work together inevitably came. And when Qui-Gon had tried to deny such a mission the Council had disagreed.

“An exceptional diplomat, young Kenobi will be. Teach him much, you can.” Yoda had said smugly.

“Truth is, you two will make quite the team. Wouldn’t have figured that for myself,” Mace’s tone had been quite sardonic.

And so Qui-Gon boarded their small ship, shook hands with the pilot and locked eyes with Obi-Wan, who stood at the side, clearly waiting for him.

He had changed.

Qui-Gon hadn’t seen the younger man since before his Knighting. Had Obi-Wan deliberately avoided him – he suspected as much, but word of his achievements had been circulating the Temple regardless of Obi-Wan’s wishes.

He had grown his hair, rust coloured and curling at the nape of his neck. He had a beard now, covering the small indent on his chin. He looked calm and unshakable.

Qui-Gon reached for his calm as well. He nodded to Obi-Wan and let that calm spread down his body, enveloping him. The mission took precedent. They both headed to the small sitting area of the ship. The vessel rattled as it took off the ground. The insides were nothing luxurious but were well lit and spacious enough. The Master had to wonder, was this extra expense a way to appeal to him? Make him less wary of the Council and their schemes? Whatever the truth was, it was at least partially working - Qui-Gon was relieved to have a private space all of his own, a cabin for their two days journey.

Qui-Gon took his transmitter out to play the message detailing their mission. The form of Mace Windu appeared flickering in blue.

 _“This mission takes place on Arda – the capital and main port of planet Vid and Senator’s Camrin native planet and current residence.”_ Mace informed them _. “Three days ago his wife – Mihmea was found dead in their home. The family and the guards have found no clues and are not ruling out the possibility of suicide. Mihmea was from the neighbouring planet Gideron. The people of Gideron refuse to believe one of their own would take her life and demand that the Republic send a neutral party to investigate the case. If the perpetrator is not found and the cause of death established, Gideron threatens to cease its peace with Vid and attack.”_

Taking out his datapad, Qui-Gon scrolled through the information on both Vid and Gideron – humanoid population, rich in resources, Middle Rim - he memorised dutifully. Vid had recently joined the Republic after seizing fire with Gideron. To strengthen the union between the two planets Senator Camrin had married a Giderion royalty – Lady Mihmea. Interesting, could an insurgence possibly have formed on Vid? Was it the work of extremists?

He was just about ready to share his thoughts on the mission as Obi-Wan stood up. “I’ll be in my cabin, if you excuse me, Master Jinn,” he said and quickly and politely left.

The want for privacy apparently went both ways. Qui-Gon should’ve known. A sigh tore from his chest. 

* * *

The three rivers flowing into the massive lake were impressive from the sky, but no less so from up close. Arda was situated on the shores of the Triplets, as the rivers were aptly named. The residence of the chancellor was outside of the city overlooking the lake. The breeze on the private landing pad pinched Qui-Gon’s face and tousled his hair, stirring the flames of his sour mood. The trip had been uneventful, but also silent.

“Master Jedi, so glad you could come.” Camrin was a tall, broad-chested man, his hair was carefully plaited down his back. He was dressed as befitting of a senator from this region in what to Qui-Gon seemed like a garish robe, stitched with golden thread. Next to him stood an old woman, her silver hair in braids that looped around her skull. “My mother – Lylah.” The woman bowed gracefully.

Vrok, their pilot, nodded to them once, “I’ll be in the city,” he said gruffly and took up the ramp to start the engines, Qui-Gon was almost sad to see him go. Vrok had been a sort of a buffer on their journey to the planet, someone to disturb the silence that had often overtaken both Jedi. Qui-Gon was not avoiding Obi-Wan, but he knew there was so much unsaid between them. He had vowed to repair their relationship or at least try, but at the Temple Anakin was often an unwilling obstacle. Qui-Gon’s Padawan to this day, hated the mere mention of the name Obi-Wan. It was almost frightening in its intensity. Qui-Gon was no fool, he knew it was more than mere jealousy, although that played it’s part too. Deep down in Anakin, Qui-Gon had sown the fear of abandonment so deep that no amount of persuasion and gentle lessons were able to snuff it out. That day in the Council room had been an eye-opener to Anakin and Qui-Gon’s mistake had been letting the child see it unfold with his own eyes. Now, that desert child was gripping tightly Anakin’s heart in obsolete fear. The Temple had not been the place to make amends, but even now on this trip, Qui-Gon had realised he couldn’t do it. He was no better than Anakin in this regard - he himself feared rejection.

Alone, the four of them made their way to the residence, Qui-Gon’s heavy thoughts a persistent fifth companion.

* * *

“Now this is a room,” Obi-Wan remarked cheerfully, not tearing his eyes from the lavish décor on the ceilings. Qui-Gon had to admit he agreed wholeheartedly and, as usual, such careless and effortless demonstration of wealth put him ill at ease. Obi-Wan threw his bag on the nearest bed and it didn’t even bounce once – so soft was the mattress. Before they had the chance to explore it further, a knock on the door told them of the arrival of a servant droid. It stood, without quite entering, its armour polished and shiny in the low rich light.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” its head almost touched the floor in a creaking bow. “The Master requests your presence at dinner in an hour.”

“Do you think the Giderions will be there?” Obi-Wan asked him when the droid left.

“If they are not, it means this family has something to hide,” Qui-Gon said.

They both had felt it. Now it was a matter of time before the suspicion proved to be the truth.

“An hour is enough time for a stroll,” and before Qui-Gon could agree, Obi-Wan was out of the door as well. They had finally exchanged more than a sentence at a time, but Obi-Wan had once again wiggled his way out of Qui-Gon’s vicinity. 

Left with nothing better to do, Qui-Gon decided he should, under the guise of visiting the gardens of the estate, do his own research. They were in the possession of the official report of the investigation, but the Jedi knew better than to trust blindly. Sometimes all that was needed for a trail to disappear was a mere couple of credits.

He had in no way intended to follow the same path as Obi-Wan, but saw his lone figure, sitting at one of the benches in the vast garden. Qui-Gon also hadn’t had the intention to spy on the younger man, but something in Obi-Wan anchored him and he couldn’t look away. One of the maids neared Obi-Wan. Quite shyly she bowed to him as was the custom here. Qui-Gon couldn’t make out what they were saying, but a moment later Obi-Wan was smiling warmly at her. Qui-Gon hurriedly left, the spell broken, cursing himself for not having found anything of use.

* * *

The dinner had been a somber affair, no one, in particular, having the desire to dispose of any information. The Jedi had learned nothing other than that Lady Mihmea had been well-liked by both members of the family and the staff. The Giderions notably were absent.

“This may prove harder after all,” Qui-Gon undid his belt. Obi-Wan looked up from his datapad and hummed.

“Did you know that Lady Mihmea was pregnant?” He asked.

Qui-Gon set his saber gently on the nightstand, the weapon hardly fitting next to the delicate night lamp shaped like crashing waves on a rock side. He could feel the stare of the younger man boring into his back.

“This information was not public knowledge?” He guessed.

“No, but her maid explained to me that the Lady had been indisposed in the mornings and had changed her dietary plan. Camrin knew - Mihmea was beginning to show. Qui Gon, this is not a suicide. Do you think the killer knew too?”

“If they did…” Qui-Gon trailed, no one finished.

* * *

Qui-Gon couldn’t fall asleep, no matter how much he tossed and turned. The bed was irritatingly soft and he felt like drowning in it. The soft breathing of his companion just set him on edge further still. Obi-Wan treated him cordially, like he would any other mission partner and if he was still the young man’s master, Qui-Gon would’ve been proud. As it stood, though, he would’ve preferred shouts and raw anger. Still, Qui-Gon knew he deserved the indifference that Obi-Wan had so well mastered. 

Qui-Gon settled for a light meditative trance, so when the steps in front of their door appeared he heard them loud and clear. Not in the business of stalking the residents of the house, he, nevertheless, swiftly stood up and after a minute or two opened the room. Someone was moving down the hallway, Qui-Gon sensed it in the Force as much as he saw a glimpse of a shadow. He summoned his lightsaber and quietly followed, his hunches never leading him astray throughout his long years.

Qui-Gon tried for stealth, but the shadow was moving quickly and with clear intent. Following silently proved to be a challenge and indeed a couple of steps later the figure didn’t even stop but turned. The Force warned Qui-Gon just in time to duck behind a corner in the hall. This wouldn’t do. Qui-Gon reached a place in his mind he had purposefully buried a long time ago but for some reason had never wrecked as he had seemingly done so many times before. He followed a thread of blinding light down the Force and tugged insistently.

On the other side of the Bond, he was met with confusion and blurriness he had learned to associate mostly with sleep. A silent question not spoken with words. Qui-Gon sent an image and tried to imply danger down the path.

“ _Qui-Gon_?” Words formed and it surprised the Master, he hadn’t thought the Bond would be so strong still.

“ _Obi-Wan, I need your help down the hall and to the left. Possibly an intruder_.”

A surprise, then denial, something else moved through the Bond, hitting Qui-Gon like electricity, something powerful and running deep down to, seemingly, the marrow of his bones, before he had the chance to reach for it, however, it was gone just as suddenly as it had appeared. Obi-Wan had slammed his shields down hastily, almost severing the connection entirely and staggering Qui-Gon.

“ _I’ll be right there_ ,” the words echoed coldly in Qui-Gon’s mind.

The figure slowed down in front of one of the doors, it took out some sort of a gadget from a bag and with a silent whirl, opened the lock with it. The door had been locked, that set Qui-Gon on edge. Not a random guest lost astray through the maze that this estate was. His hunch had been right.

A nudge in the Force, a familiar presence. Obi-Wan gently touched his arm to confirm it was him. He reached for Qui-Gon’s hand, turned it over, and tapped three times with two fingers. _Tell me what to do._ Qui-Gon felt a pang in his heart, a silent ache deep down in his stubborn soul – Obi-Wan had used their old communication system and had effortlessly thrown him back in time. He squashed any feelings ruthlessly, pointed to the door and both of them silently crept forward.

The room was spacious, bigger even than their own. The large window left enough moonlight for them to see a man - humanoid, stocky frame - searching through the clutter spilled on a large wooden desk. Obi-Wan nodded firmly and Qui-Gon used the Force to press the lock of the window. The loud click startled the man and he turned, blaster on the ready. Qui-Gon had his lightsaber ignited before anyone could react.

“Think carefully before you do something stupid,” Obi-Wan warned, his hands raised in a placating gesture, but the man heeded no warnings and fired.

* * *

“That was too easy,” Obi-Wan said. The security forces had arrived and were currently taking the man out with them. The latter refusing to talk and no amount of threats or convictions had been good enough to make him. The household was all up, everything was in disarray. The onlookers were gawking at the intruder and the two Jedi. Camrin had shown, a hastily put on nightgown, billowing behind him. He had looked at the scene and his face had set in an even more of a displeased frown.

“This was Mihmea’s cabinet.”

Lylah appeared behind her son. “So it is done then? The killer has been caught.” She reached and squeezed Camrin’s arm gently.

The Jedi looked at one another, Qui-Gon felt the bond flare in his mind but ignored it. “Possibly,” he said and saw the relief on Camrin’s face, “We assume the killer was searching for this,” Qui-Gon dropped the small med-vial he had been holding into the awaiting hands of Lylah.

“Is this…”

“There were traces of the poison that killed your wife, Senator,” Qui-Gon said. “Someone had been switching her medication with it.”

Camrin nodded grimly, his face too pale in the harsh lights of the emergency defensive system of the house. “I’m afraid you hardly enjoyed our hospitality, Jedi, but I am forever grateful to both of you for shedding light on this…tragedy.” He closed his eyes pained by the word. “At least she did not kill herself. It brings me some comfort to know she was not as unhappy as to do so.”

“We’re not done yet,” Obi-Wan almost whispered. Qui-Gon hummed as he watched Camrin ushering his staff back to their rooms. “He was not the killer.”

“How do we persuade them to let us stay, without it looking suspicious?”

“Leave that to me,” Obi-Wan said with a beginning of a mischievous smile. For the first time since forever, it was aimed at Qui-Gon and it stayed in the pit of his stomach, warm like an ember, for a long time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this house, we love and respect [Chibiobiwan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibiobiwan/pseuds/Chibiobiwan) \- the best beta in the world.

_ There were three lightsabers hidden in their hut. Two of them, Obi-Wan would clean often at times, when he was alone. His, he would take apart slowly with the Force. The kyber crystal in it singing its greetings. It brought him peace and the fond memories of past times – his trip to Illum, his clumsy hands designing his first lightsaber hilt. These memories Obi-Wan greeted like old friends sharing a cup of tea. Then there were other sounds resonating in the crystal – the cry of war, the clash of a lightsaber with another. Those Obi-Wan had learned to accept with a heavy heart and would slowly let go of each and every time. At the end of it all the hilt would be brought back together and the saber’s heart would pulse with light. _

_ Anakin’s lightsaber was entirely different. Its broken heart sang the song of confusion and resentment. Almost shattered, the kyber crystal within screamed. It wasn’t Obi-Wan it needed, but he hoped one day someone would be accepted by the saber and heal it. Sometimes the crystal would screech the dying screams of young Padawans. Obi-Wan’s hands would tremble, would stop their work and he would close his eyes pained, breathe in once, twice and exhale hollowly. Still, he meticulously cleaned it. _

_ The third one he didn’t touch at all. _

Obi-Wan took sight of the city and breathed in the dusty air of the market. It had been three days of their prolonged stay on Vid and Arda, the capital, was proving a pleasurable quaint place. And even if Obi-Wan was not here to indulge himself in the life of its streets, being outside Camrin’s home was a relief.

Obi-Wan felt trapped in the enormous, lavish room they had been given and its other resident made things worse. He’d cursed his luck thrice over to be assigned a mission with the only sentient being he had been avoiding like the Outer Rim plague.

He should’ve known when Dooku took him out. 

_ Even though his Master had an appointment with important dignitaries, like he had had for the past seven years at the exact same time every week, this one last time he’d skipped. Instead he had gone with his Padawan out of the Temple and into the bustling dirty streets of Coruscant. _

_ Dooku had foregone hiring transport and, slightly miffed and always curious, his Padawan had followed. Obi-Wan’s patience had been rewarded as they reached the local park. _

_ “What do you see, Padawan?” Dooku had asked, stopping in the middle of the alleyway and just entering the greenery that tried to tear up his robes. _

_ Kids of all sorts were playing around them, a daring togruta ran past and pulled playfully at Obi-Wan’s cloak. “Jedi, Jedi” she laughed at them both and scurried away to her playmates that enthusiastically patted her on the back for her bravery. _

_ “A lesson, Master?” Obi-Wan smiled, his eyes not leaving the kids, but after a cough from the older man, turned back to where Dooku had indicated and tried to focus. “Trees,” Obi-Wan stated the obvious, feeling slightly foolish. Not just a few trees even, but a whole forest covered the lands, given to nature here at the heart of a body made of durasteel and plastoid. _

_ “Excellent observation, Obi-Wan,” Dooku kneeled near a tree, Obi-Wan following more of a respect to his Master than any desire on his part. As he was, seated right opposite the older man, Obi-Wan wondered briefly if they were going to meditate like the young Initiates at the Temple were made to do – right in the open in the middle of a park not much different than this one, in the hopes to teach them concentration. _

_ Dooku, however, did not close his eyes and instead kept on staring at Obi-Wan, his face – a picture of concerned thoughtfulness. Obi-Wan tried not to squirm too much.  _

_ “I heard about your next mission,” Dooku said, inclining his head in curiosity. _

_ And there it was – the pain after a hit in the gut. _

_ “I declined it, Master,” Obi-Wan answered truthfully. There was hardly a point to hide something like that from Dooku, he’d sniff it out in an instance. _

_ Dooku turned his head and gently his fingers reached for the leaves of a frail sapling, softly swaying with the wind. It was a small one – barely Obi-Wan’s hand in height. “Do you know what I’ve noticed about these?” He motioned to the small plant. _

_ Obi-Wan patiently waited for the response. He noticed them now – all around him spiking in from the ground, dozens of these saplings - tiny little spots in the Force.  _

_ “They never survive like this, my Padawan. Such as they grow in the shadows of the trees.” _

_ The wind picked up again and the sapling moved under Dooku’s fingertips almost shyly running away from him. _

_ Obi-Wan sighed _ ,  _ “You suggested me for that mission?”  _

_ “I was, in fact, offered to travel with Qui-Gon to Arda, but suggested an excellent Negotiator, who would complement the Master’s skills more.” Dooku turned to his Padawan, his stern eyes baring Obi-Wan’s soul. “You can’t run away from this.” _

And so he had ended up on that bloody transport with his former Master.

Qui-Gon was a … complication and would he ever be pleased to know that he’d put a cog in someone’s plan without even knowing it, like a lightning bolt on a clear morning. Obi-Wan sighed, thinking of his now shattered plan. A perfectly good plan to boot. One that had included never, ever talking with said Jedi Master unless absolutely necessary.

He wasn’t actively avoiding Qui-Gon. No. Like Dooku liked to say, Obi-Wan had the tendency to face challenges head on and bruise himself for his troubles. And bruised Obi-Wan felt. It cost him more than he would like to admit being around Qui-Gon. Seeing him on the ship had been like the crack of a whip before it strikes on flesh. He’d wanted to stand to attention and run out of there at the same time – the Padawan fighting the knight he was now.

Some, back at the Temple, may call it envy, some hurt pride still, but Obi-Wan didn’t care – avoidance was his only option. Being around Qui-Gon Jinn was dangerous. That night, three moons ago was a confirmation. The Master had so effortlessly re-awakened their bond and hurled Obi-Wan in a tangle of complicated feelings. Some had leaked outright – those most coveted by him. His one possession in a world where he should have none.

His love had almost reached Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan had been foolish, thinking this could’ve been an easy mission. Once denied by the man, he had no intention to beg for a repeat. So he had slammed his shields and done what he had perfected over the years – put all of his feelings in a neat little box and threw it at the furthest corner of his mind.

It still hurt him to be around Qui-Gon. The sting of going back to simpler times and seemingly slotting himself to the spot next to the Master as if it always should’ve been this way. He wished to see one more time the trust and respect in those eyes but Qui-Gon had been reserved, treating him not unkindly but just like he would any new knight – amiably, politely - it was like pouring acid on an open wound.

The hurt he could deal with. It was the love he felt for the Master he couldn’t even comprehend, and with no guidelines, he just stumbled in it blindly.

When he had been younger, Obi-Wan would entertain the idea that someday Qui-Gon would come to him and explain all that he already knew - deep down Obi-Wan knew why Qui-Gon had done what he had. He hadn’t needed an apology – it was not the Jedi way and Obi-Wan was first and foremost a Jedi to his core – but he had yearned for one nonetheless. He didn’t know if he’d ever forgive being tossed aside, his second Master certainly hadn’t, but Obi-Wan Kenobi was weak when it came to Qui-Gon Jinn’s wishes and some part of him knew with certainty that he would’ve accepted the apology. He liked to think that Qui-Gon knew that too and so he had never come with it on his lips. He liked to think they both knew Qui-Gon didn’t deserve it.

Thinking on the mission didn’t help either. Both of them were aware the thief was just a decoy. Someone to carry on the blame. It had been easy figuring it out from the opened window the thief had disregarded, to the fact that Qui-Gon had checked and there seemed to have another, faster, route from the first floor to the cabinet. It seemed clear that the perpetrator had wanted to be caught and the sloppy theft had been a ruse. Someone was playing a dangerous game, but it was obvious they too had little knowledge on these sorts of affairs. Obi-Wan sighed once more – he had had enough experience in such situations although he fervently wished he didn’t.

Being so absorbed in his morose thoughts he almost missed the stage. The flimsy décor made of the simple colourful wood, common for the planet, had appeared in the middle of the street, where previously it had been empty. Two actors were performing in front of quite the audience. It seemed like the whole market had gathered round to clap excitedly while the story unfolded before their eyes. Amused, Obi-Wan decided to join the masses. 

But as he kept watching dread quickly spread, squeezing his insides like a vice. He had to go back and find Qui-Gon quickly. The laughs of the spectators - no longer pleasant, but jarring. The people around him - no longer friendly, but intent on getting in his way. Obi-Wan tried to politely extract himself, but it seemed like he was drowning in the crowd. Children ran, quick as mice, around the stalls and in-between the traders legs. He had to hurry. Someone tried to stop him – a trader selling colourful fruits of all sizes – Obi-Wan smiled wanly, but kept on going, almost running down the streets of the city. If his hunch was to be trusted, he had Mihmea’s killer in his grasp just outside of his reach. All he had to do is to outstretch his arm a little bit more.

* * *

“She was carrying a girl,” Obi-Wan dropped down in a chair, Qui-Gon following him in their room. “It was all for the girl.” He still couldn’t believe it, but after finding Qui-Gon they had gone to the hospital Mihmea had last been seen visiting and with a little bit of Force manipulation had their fears confirmed. Mihmea had been pregnant with a girl. Her mistake – sharing the joyous news.

_ Once upon a time _ , the play on the market began,  _ a woman was cursed to bear a female child _ . Obi-Wan had heard of such societies before and the horrible reality of female infanticide, the deliberate killing of female babies, had crystallised before his eyes. Missed by the data files, and even outlawed on the Planet, the practice still existed to this day. Having a girl as a firstborn was considered extremely bad luck by the inhabitants of Arda. So much so, that there were horror stories filling books after books about how to get rid of your unwanted progeny. Disbelief quelled the rage Obi-Wan had felt. Mihmea had clearly refused to kill her unborn child and lost her life for it.

It wasn’t Camrin, a quick search through the holonet confirmed he had been a firm defender for the outlaw of the practice. He had no other relatives with the power and influence to do such a thing other than his mother – Lylah.

“We must tell her people,” Qui-Gon said, interrupting Obi-Wan’s morose thoughts. Obi-Wan looked at him. Qui-Gon’s lips were thin and almost devoid of colour, his eyes though, they were cold and remorseless. “We must reveal her killer.”

“No, we can’t yet.” Obi-Wan shook his head slowly, not breaking eye contact.

“And leave it like this?! She deserved better!”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, resisting the urge to drop his head in his hands and stay still for a long, long time. “We can’t,” he said, voice sounding small and tired even to his own ears. “You know we can’t,” A little louder. They couldn’t afford a war breaking out over this. It pained him, but it was the choice they had to make. “Better leave it like that, the press has a killer.”

Qui-Gon didn’t see it like that. “They deserve the truth,” he said adamantly.

“They don’t deserve a war.”

“You can’t be sure there will be one. If they do not know of this, they might send another one to befall the same destiny. We can help.”

“Haven’t we done enough?” At the same time, it felt like they’ve done nothing. Obi-Wan gritted his teeth. He couldn’t argue, not like this. Qui-Gon always managed to get under his skin. “We should ask the Council.”

“We don’t need guidance other than the Force.”

And there it was – the one thing Obi-Wan didn’t want to hear, almost an echo of his most painful memories back to haunt him. His rage awoke – the lost lives, this mission, being cramped with the one person he avoided for days – all of it coalesced into a fire he felt spreading through his veins. He couldn’t let it burn, however. “It is not our decision to make,” he spoke coolly. 

“Why do you run from responsibility?” Qui-Gon seemed similarly affected, though he too did not raise his voice. He didn’t need to, Obi-Wan recognized his tone from back when he had called the man his Master. Back in those first days when the wound from Xanatos had still been festering.

“Why do  _ you _ always run straight for it without even thinking about it first?” Oh, it felt good to say it out loud. Was it still the mission they were talking about? Obi-Wan didn’t know, and, most importantly, he didn’t care.

Qui-Gon’s eyes were set ablaze. “It has clearly never led me astray thus far.” He was definitely not talking about their current situation.

Obi-Wan allowed the pain to wreak havoc in him. Oh, but it wasn’t fair, such a low blow. “Clearly, Master Jinn, I’ve forgotten my place. As a Master, it is up to you to make the decision, but it is my duty to inform the Council,” he nodded, satisfied with the firmness of his voice. “Now if you’ll excuse me,” and before anything else poisonous could be said, Obi-Wan left the room, the door quietly sliding in his wake.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I'd take a bullet for [Chibiobiwan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibiobiwan/pseuds/Chibiobiwan) , the best beta in the world!

_ Obi-Wan hadn’t had the time to be alone – in the desert, in the middle of nowhere, in hiding. As a hermit with an odd reputation he had time enough to spare, but not time to be alone it seemed. Still, rare as it might be he could, when a mischievous spark that age had not snuff out lit inside him, escape company and seek solace as he had currently done. Cross-legged, in the deep shadows of the cave, Obi-Wan tried to meditate and just be. The coolness that the cave offered was a mercy caressing his back as the heat of the desert sought his presence amidst the dunes. Obi-Wan could say that he was as close to relaxing as he ever was. Still, a part of him was alert for changes in the Force and his current position allowed him to scan the sky for flagships. _

He’d meant to apologize, and not for the first time, but then war was upon them and the Jedi had all scattered like leaves on the wind. Qui-Gon quickly learned apologies had no place in a war and what was more, a part of him knew he’d meant what he had said back then, on Vid. It pained him that it struck such a blow with Obi-Wan, but his pride would not let him take it back. It was like admitting that training Anakin had been a mistake and that was furthest from the truth. Anakin had proven a great Jedi, even if disturbingly thriving in times of war.

Qui-Gon couldn’t say the same for himself. He had, more than ever in his life, defied the Council and flatly refused outright to join the military campaign or command an army of clones. He still believed in Jedi integrity and had found an unlikely ally in the face of his old master. Dooku had been the only member of the Council that had agreed with his decision immediately after Qui-Gon had voiced it. Dooku had also refrained from joining the battlefield, but as a member of the Council it had easily been swallowed by the rest of the Jedi – he was more valuable spinning his webs on top of the tower, overlooking Coruscant’s bustling scenery.

It had not been so for Qui-Gon. A maverick with a questionable reputation, he had turned into a pariah overnight. Jedi did not hold grudges, but the others, often returning from the battlefield – eyes dark with terror – could not push down their disapproval and judgment as one of their own had been given leeway. Qui-Gon held his head high through it all. The stares and the rumours didn’t bother him.

The Temple was afloat with gossip and Qui-Gon braved it with ease, but there was one set of eyes he couldn’t meet and one being in the entire world, whose scorn he deeply yearned for and feared in equal measures. One he had not met in a long, long time.

* * *

The shuttle shook viciously as they entered the artificial atmosphere of the moon.

“How’s he?” Qui-Gon asked. The shuttle shook once more, but the eyes of his companion never left him.

“As to be expected,” Dooku answered.

Qui-Gon nodded his head, pleased. This was more information he could’ve hoped for. In fact more than Dooku would usually spare, but ever since Qui-Gon had given up his rank in front of the Council, he and his Master had reached a truce of a sort. An understanding and a common goal had brought them together after years of strained silence on both ends. Both of them had declined to participate in the madness that had consumed the Republic and that was why they were here – on this shuttle, descending at a rapid speed to one of the most dangerous places in the known universe. Just because they were not actively fighting in the war did not mean they got to walk free of it all.

“He seems tired,” Qui-Gon pushed his luck a little bit more.

Dooku snorted, “He barely sleeps and eats these days, walks like he is in a trance.”

Qui-Gon frowned, a pang of regret slipping through his shields. “He used to be like that with puzzles he couldn’t solve.”

His statement didn’t mellow Dooku, instead, the old man rewarded him with a glare. “War is not something he could solve on his own.”

“None of us can,” Qui-Gon said quietly.

They had a few more minutes of freefall, it was awkward. Enveloped in the stiffening silence, Qui-Gon tried not to sigh.

“They want to nominate him for a seat on the Council,” Dooku shot the news like a slug to the chest, his hair blown by the wind. Before Qui-Gon could say anything to that, the older Master proceeded to jump off the shuttle. Slightly dazed Qui-Gon followed.

* * *

Qui-Gon picked feebly at his food, keenly aware of the stares. A clone passed by and quickly joined his companions several seats down the row – away from the single Jedi. Qui-Gon understood, the clones didn’t trust him for a myriad of reasons, the main one being his refusal to join the ranks and fight alongside them. Yet, here he was on the Negotiator, waiting on the person the bloody flagship was named after.

He stood up, appetite never been there to be lost really. The whole mess hall fell silent for a moment, and Qui-Gon held still, giving them time to take a good look, waited a few seconds and left the hall, a wave of whispering following him out. With a half-formed plan to find Obi-Wan on his own, Qui-Gon tried to be as unobtrusive as his hulking frame and distinct clothing would allow. Two soldiers hurriedly saluted him and Qui-Gon knew they were new recruits just by that gesture of respect.  _ Soon they’ll learn _ , he thought, resigned and tried to suppress the bitterness and pain he felt spiking. It was hardest with the new clones – inexperienced and eager to fight – in his heart, he couldn’t let them go and a part of him wanted to command them to run and hide somewhere away from this ship, this war, this world gone to madness.

It was probably for the best the clones did not heed his commands. It was probably for the best he had no clones to command at all.

“Master Jinn,” Qui-Gon heard behind him in that cultured tone. He hid his emotions behind a mask of indifference and turned to face Obi-Wan. ”Master Kenobi.”

“Excellent,” The same indifference was reflected in those light eyes, “I was just looking for you, we are going to land soon and I feel we need to go through this together,” Obi-Wan waved wanly the datapad in his hand.

“Anything new?” Qui-Gon asked, keeping his voice perfectly composed, neutral.

“No, it’s just…” Obi-Wan trailed, hand stroking his beard. “I am uncertain about this distress call.”

“How so?”

“There hasn’t been any Separatist movement in this area until now and the radars are not catching up anything unusual.”

“Senator Groz’s distress call detailed a threat to his planet, was there more to the message?” Qui-Gon asked.

Obi-Wan shook his head. “Only that you and I should be present as a team. Apparently, the now-retired Senator Voz had some more than glowing praises for our previous work in the region.”

There it was again, this Force-meddling past back to haunt Qui-Gon. If he had his suspicions before that Obi-Wan had been avoiding him prior to Vid, well afterward, he hadn’t seen a single hair of his except on the holovids that had spawned in the middle of the war campaign. And Obi-Wan had changed once again. It seemed to Qui-Gon he would never stop doing that and he couldn’t quite catch up. Maybe Qui-Gon was just an old fool himself – stubborn in his way, but he felt left out like an old relic, desperately holding on to time long past gone. Maybe that was why he acted so cold towards Obi-Wan, towards everyone really – bitterly missing what innocence they had lost.

“Whatever the Senator desires then,” Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows, waiting for Obi-Wan to bite back. Instead, the General looked at him, exhaustion etched in his posture and nodded stiffly.

* * *

“Simply put, kill them,” Groz said.

There was a beat of silence and it drowned the meeting room. Seated at the place of honour, Senator Groz looked between the two Jedi expectantly, his face appendages twitching with anticipation.

Qui-Gon had dealt with many sleazy politicians and rulers throughout his years as a Jedi and his instincts told him there was no place for diplomacy in this.

“You want us to deal with a rebellion?” Obi-Wan asked. His tone boding nothing, his hands though, they shook slightly and he clenched them, hiding the tremors underneath the table. Qui-Gon saw and his fury woke. Half tempted to solve this with his blade, he turned to Groz once more.

“Not happening,” Qui-Gon flatly refused, but to their surprise Groz only laughed. “Come now, Master Jedi. You work for the Republic, do you not? You now have an army at your disposal. All I am asking you is to help me out with this problem I have. You’d be doing us all a favour – the whole city has been overrun by terrorists. The faster you deal with them the faster my planet goes back to supporting your war effort with supplies. Everyone wins.”

“Senator Groz, the GAR does not operate on matters of interplanetary dispute. We cannot help you with your problem.” Obi-Wan said imploringly.

Groz’s face, changing through a few shades of green, settled on a particularly dark shade, signifying his displeasure. “I am a close friend to the Chancellor, Master Jedi. I will call him if I must. Deploy your troops in the city or else!”

To the surprise of his companions, Qui-Gon calmly stood up. “Call him if you must. We shall wait with bated breath.” And with that, he headed for the exit, a slightly startled Obi-Wan following him close by.

“We are not,” Obi-Wan said. “You might think we are all fools, but we are still Jedi.” Qui-Gon would argue under different circumstances, instead, he held his tongue, something in the way this unreasonable demand had shaken Obi-Wan had left them both defenseless. Had words of apology and regret, warmth of any sort, passed through Qui-Gon’s lips in this moment he would’ve been given release. 

Instead, Qui-Gon said only, “Wait for me,” as he hurried down the hall.

Obi-Wan wasn’t so easily fooled though and followed. “What will you be doing?”

An idea formed in Qui-Gon’s mind, he stopped. It was unreasonable. It was foolish. It was perfect.

“Coming?”

* * *

“This was a terrible idea,” Obi-Wan ducked behind the rubble as the blaster shots kept firing, one had singed his hair in his mad dash through the streets of the city. Just because Groz had wanted the GAR did not mean he had no army of his own as backup. He’d simply wanted the Clones as he had thought them disposable. Now that the battle was in full swing, the rebels, led unofficially by a Rodian named Kel’Dra, had allied with the Jedi and were currently leading the offense against the royal guard.

“We cannot continue,” Kel’Dra shouted over the sounds of the battle. “Not while they have those karking blaster cannons.”

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan looked at each other and both nodded.

“Cover us, we’ll take care of the cannons,” Qui-Gon said and jumped over their hideout. The guards immediately zeroed in on him and Qui-Gon gritted his teeth as the shots rained on. It was hard as the cannons had much more power to them. They needed to be quick. Obi-Wan joined in on the fray, compensating for where Qui-Gon made a mistake. Both of them were effective but wouldn’t last long. Or so he thought. He hadn’t accounted for the sheer power of Obi-Wan’s defensive style of fighting.

Qui-Gon hadn’t seen Obi-Wan fight since their separation and it took him off guard how much the others' style had changed. It suited him though and felt right. This version of Obi-Wan Kenobi was more grounded and sure on his feet. A force to be reckoned with, and if Qui-Gon had the time, he’d marvel at the change. The shots ricocheted off Obi-Wan’s saber and more than not made their way back to the weapon. It exploded before the soldier manning it realized his mistake. One down, two to go.

Lightning quick, Qui-Gon passed his idea over their bond and jumped high off the ground, trying to get back behind the line of fire. Obi-Wan used the Force to propel him higher into the air. Qui-Gon surprised the next soldier, and before she could react, had her unconscious on the ground. He rammed his saber into the cannon effectively destroying the blasted thing. 

Between them the last one was easily dealt with and the rebels could proceed with taking back the city out of Groz’s grasp.

Qui-Gon fell back as the crowd of mismatched citizens rushed forward. Obi-Wan evened with him, he looked winded and was breathing hard, and his hair was plastered on his forehead. If he had the time, Qui-Gon would think about how much Obi-Wan had warmed up these past few days towards him, somehow this impromptu mission throwing them back to the past. A truce was struck, even if certain topics were avoided at all costs.

“We should hurry up, they may have something else up their sleeve,” Obi-Wan said.

Qui-Gon didn’t even hesitate. He followed.

* * *

The basement was damp and the cold nipped viciously at Qui-Gon’s fingers as he loosened his sash. Their hideout had been a last resort in waiting for tomorrow's fight. As he had to prepare to be of any use, Qui-Gon stripped his tunics off and clenched his teeth at the unrelenting cold and the pain that rippled through his wounds. Careless, he had been careless he thought and not too gently pressed on a bruise on his torso. This would heal, but the cuts on his back needed some attention.

He took a bacta patch in his hands, the cold making his fingers sluggish as he tore the wrapping. He pressed it in between his ribs and pushed on it. The pain keeping him awake and alert.

Qui-Gon grabbed another one and repeated the process, his fingers fumbling with the plastic.  _ Where was Obi-Wan? _ He idly thought as he applied this one to his bicep, the thin hairs on his arms responding to the cold and standing up. _ Was he hurt as well _ ? He hadn't had the time to check as the rebels had dragged him in the basement, separating the two Jedi.

Grabbing a third patch Qui-Gon looked around his surroundings. Other than a few other crates and an empty shelf there was nothing. The lamp blinking pathetically in an uneven rhythm that irritated his eyes.

Qui-Gon sighed and tried to locate the wound on his back on feeling alone. It was hard and no matter how much he would’ve liked to - his arms could not reach up between his shoulder blades and the sluggishly oozing cut there.

“This will not work,” an unimpressed voice said.

Speaking of the Loth’cat.

Qui-Gon turned and voiced his opinion with an eyebrow raised. He got an amused expression in return.

"Are you okay?" It slipped through his teeth and he immediately regretted it. Obi-Wan would not appreciate someone like him worrying about his health.

Obi-Wan, however, took it with grace and nodded. “Better than you it seems,” he said as he neared Qui-Gon, his footsteps joining the lamp in its lonely singing. Obi-Wan spoke to him now, free and unrestrained. A great weight had fallen off of Qui-Gon’s shoulders. If he closed his eyes at this moment he could almost imagine they were back years ago. He wished to keep these moments forever, pinn them like insects in a frame and keep them. He knew he didn’t deserve anymore of them, yet he was greedy.

“And Kel’Dra?”

“He’ll live,” Obi-Wan outstretched his arm, wiggling his fingers expectantly. Qui-Gon relented and handed the patch over. Obi-Wan looked at his back and sighed. The older Master did not turn but heard Obi-Wan’s footsteps and the splashing of water. Qui-Gon winced.

“You were just going to slather the patch on it?!” There it was, Obi-Wan’s indignation. He’d missed it so much. He remembered doing silly things back when they were a team, silly uncharacteristically clumsy gestures just to pry a laughter out of his all too serious Padawan but had gotten, more often than not, this rightful indignation as if the child was trying to protect his image as if the child was willing to fight even him to preserve his honor. It had warmed him to the bone, and by the end of their relationship he could sneak a smile out of Obi-Wan at the tail of a huffed phrase of complaint and he had considered that one of his greatest accomplishments.

“Good thing I got some clean rags,” Obi-Wan kept murmuring and not too gently applied one to Qui-Gon’s back. Obi-Wan’s touch stung more than his wound. Qui-Gon couldn’t see his face but knew with perfect clarity that there would be a frown marking it. Obi-Wan always tackled all manners of tasks with a single-mindedness and intense concentration.

Qui-Gon felt warmth other than the sting and tried to twist his head.

“Don’t move,” Obi-Wan admonished.

“Don’t Force heal me,” Qui-Gon shot back worried.

“I am just strengthening you,”

“I don’t - “

I saw your other wounds, and you didn’t clean any of them stop talking,” Obi-Wan pressed the bacta patch onto the wound with a little more force than necessary, but then smoothed it over, his fingers splaying over the edge of the bacta patch and finding skin. The warmth spread over Qui-Gon’s back, more searing than the Force healing had been. The hand stayed there for a moment and then another, not moving.

The silence shifted, it seemed like even the lamp stopped its incessant buzzing.

“Jedi,” Kel’Dra stormed the basement making them both jump. “They are retreating to the citadel. It’s time to move,” he sounded so excited, almost waving his hands even though one of them was in a cast.

The touch was gone and Qui-Gon keenly felt its loss.

* * *

Obi-Wan dropped next to him on the roof, a little huff escaping his lips. Down on the streets, the festivities continued, the now free people of the planet celebrating the fall of the Senator tyrant, as they called Groz. Turned out Groz had been a corrupt and ruthless leader other than a complete scumbag, who had seized control of a whole planet while the Republic had been too busy fighting the war, and the people had revolted against his regime. The small houses surrounding them were completely overshadowed by the beast of a citadel Groz had constructed. Right now, thick clouds of smoke drifted from it – the only thing signifying the events of the past week or so.

The music thumped loudly in tune with the laughter and chatting from down below. The flat rooftop offered them some hideout from the grateful people down on the streets. Qui-Gon looked at his companion and something in him slotted in place – Obi-Wan looked…relaxed, happy even and for the first time in forever, Qui-Gon recognized the person he had been searching for for so long.

“Takes you back,” he said gently, mellowed by the peace in the other’s eyes as he looked at Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan lifted his head towards the stars in the sky and laughed freely, “This will be a kriff of a report to write, you realize?” It felt like something cracked inside Qui-Gon and warmth spilled down his chest and into his belly.

“Oh, I’m sure the Negotiator will manage.”

Someone had lit a giant fire in the middle of the street and Qui-Gon briefly wondered if they should intervene, but for now the people were enthusiastically, if a little bit clumsily, dancing around it. The same fire burning now brightly in Qui-Gon – small and unsure still, but warm and inviting. It was surely just the joy of having Obi-Wan around him again like nothing had trespassed between them, like the last few years had been a bad dream if nothing else, and they were still Jedi, traveling from planet to planet helping people like the ones below them singing praises to the skies. Before the Force had intervened and made the first crack into that reality. 

“No need to call me that,” The tension in Obi-Wan’s voice was back and the fire was just as easily extinguished, leaving Qui-Gon to feel the cold of the night. He looked and saw the General was back with him.

“You care too much, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon tried to bring  _ him  _ back. Instead, Obi-Wan stiffened and Qui-Gon could swear he paled a bit under the two moons.

“What do you mean?” He asked carefully, confusing Qui-Gon.

It was easy to see it in the way Obi-Wan had fought with his Commander, the first day of the attack. Telling him to not, under any circumstances, help them with anything and that he and Qui-Gon would be alright on their own. Easy to see in the willingness of his second in command to follow him regardless, and in the stubborn look of the other clones around them. “I am not risking your position with this, frankly speaking, crazy operation,” Obi-Wan had almost jabbed his finger in Commander Cody’s breastplate.

“About your men,” Qui-Gon said slowly and Obi-Wan relaxed a bit.

“They are all good people.” He smiled again and laid down on the rooftop, staring at the sea of stars above them. They stood there for a while as the wind gently carried the unending victory of the locals.

“Obi-Wan…” Qui-Gon started not sure what he was going to say, something dangerous to him but necessary nonetheless.

“Master Jinn,” Obi-Wan stopped him, raising his hand, “Aren’t the stars bright here?” 

Qui-Gon looked up and wondered feebly what had just happened. Obi-Wan had denied them this chance willingly. Deep inside, Qui-Gon felt relief.

“Yes, they are.”

_ Fool. _


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Qui-Gon has an epiphany thanks to [Chibiobiwan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibiobiwan/pseuds/Chibiobiwan)

_ There was a kid at the market that could juggle three sandballs with ease. Her laughing friends would throw a forth to join, and a fifth after. Still the girl persisted and with an easy grin threw them all one after the other high into the dessert air. A sixth and a seventh and the child caught the attention of the crowd around. Finally, her mother came with a shout on her lips and distracted, the girl dropped the balls. One of them didn’t hit the sand however, but instead, for a brief moment, hovered in the air. A hooded figure in the crowd raised a hand and the ball dropped. _

_ Obi-Wan followed the mother and the child not knowing what he was planning exactly. Give her credits and tell her to leave. Leave? Go where? This miserable planet was their best bet it seemed. He lingered on their trail for a while, but soon enough turned back. _

_ His dreams that night were filled with the bodies of a dozen children all lying at the top of a tower, far, far away from here. _

__

Qui-Gon cut the braid carefully with his lightsaber, feeling pride warming him to his very bones. Anakin beamed at him, trying in vain to conceal his feelings under a stern Jedi veneer. The ceremony demanded it – it was quite the affair, seeing as the whole of the Council had gathered. Qui-Gon handed the braid to his padawan, no, to the new knight, and tried to convey with his eyes everything he was forbidden from saying right now.

All of the Jedi lowered their lightsabers and Anakin squeezed the braid in his outstretched hand, Qui-Gon for the first time in forever feeling free. His promise from long ago setting  _ both _ of them free. His chosen one. Qui-Gon couldn’t wait to see the prophecy fulfilled.

“Congratulations are in order, young knight, Master Jinn,” Plo Koon said as he neared them. Anakin beamed with pride and opened his mouth to say something when the Kel Dor added, “I heard you have more to celebrate,” he turned to Qui-Gon and because of his questioning look, he explained, “Master Kenobi’s promotion to the Council, you must be very proud.”

Qui-Gon had been expecting it but the dread still permeated his joy. Not Obi-Wan. It must’ve shown on his face for Anakin’s twisted in an ugly grimace. “Where is he then? Shouldn’t he attend?”

“Ah, don’t be so harsh, Master Kenobi had an urgent business – a campaign that I’m afraid will take some time.”

“Of course,” Anakin nodded stiffly, as Plo Koon left.

“It may be so, Anakin. Don’t judge,” Qui-Gon cautioned.

“Don’t speak up for him, please,” Anakin gritted.

Qui-Gon felt tremulous, traitorous thoughts slip past their bond. Anakin had wished Obi-Wan had been there to witness the ceremony. That desire stemmed deep from an old insecurity of Anakin’s – he had wanted to prove to Obi-Wan he could be Knight as much as he had wanted to rise in the eyes of his Master. Obi-Wan and Anakin had almost no relationship to speak of – they were cordial to one another, when they met but that was all. But Anakin had always feared the shadow of Obi-Wan, who didn’t even know he was a participant of a very competitive race. Worse still, Anakin was convinced he was losing the race. The absence of Obi-Wan was ill timed, Qui-Gon feared as they left the Council chamber. He turned to offer Anakin a dinner at Dex’s to celebrate and maybe put his student at ease, calm his fears and purge his anger, but the new Knight interrupted him before he could even speak.

“I must go, Master. I  _ too _ have an urgent business to attend to.” Anakin turned and left with no more explanation.

Qui-Gon knew better, he was going to visit the Senator – Padme Amidala.

Later, that night Qui-Gon realised Anakin had not given him his braid as per tradition. It shouldn’t hurt him the way it did, but he reasoned his Padawan had the right to give the braid to whomever he chose. Still, a part of him hoped that Anakin had simply forgotten and by the next few days he would have the braid for safekeeping. Much later, years after that day, Qui-Gon understood it would’ve never happened.

* * *

They tried not to stare too much. As seasoned diplomats and nobles – they were good at it. Innocuous looks his way, a delicate hand over someone’s ear whispering eagerly. A surprised twitch of a lekku. And most of all, his complete isolation. Qui-Gon stood alone in the ballroom as if a black hole had opened beneath his feet and people were desperately trying to run away from it. No one dared speak to the Jedi-traitor as they had dubbed him, and he had heard it whispered none too quietly more than once this evening. It didn’t bother him. He couldn’t care less.

Obi-Wan too attended the ball. He was their sun and everyone gathered around him, pulled by gravity itself. He smiled easily and bowed perfectly to a lasat female, whose ears flattened in delight. Qui-Gon averted his gaze as Obi-Wan took the lasat’s hand and led her to dance.

Ever since joining the Council, Qui-Gon had had the opportunity to follow the other’s progress. It had been downright appalling. Qui-Gon had watched as Obi-Wan had been burdened with shouldering the hardest and most dangerous of all battles. Obi-Wan had taken it all in stride, the façade however, ever impeccable to the outside, could not hide from Qui-Gon the exhaustion and grief Obi-Wan had begun to grow deep inside him.

These days Obi-Wan didn’t leave his thoughts and Qui-Gon couldn’t explain why.

Staring glumly at the glass of Corellian wine he was holding he did not see the approaching figure until he heard the familiar accent and a pale hand was outstretched to him.

“Care to dance, Master Jedi?”

Qui-Gon looked up and right into those blue eyes. It was a trap. If he had been politely ignored before, now the indignation of the crowd was a palpable thing.

Despite himself, Qui-Gon raised a brow, amused. “People will talk.”

Obi-Wan’s grin widened into a dangerously attractive smile. “Let them.”

Never one to back down a challenge, Qui-Gon accepted the hand. Obi-Wan let him lead. They swayed for a while in silence. Qui-Gon was painfully aware of this first time he got to be close to Obi-Wan ever since…, well since Tatooine. The man in his arms was so different from the boy he had left behind. For he had left him, there was no doubt about that. Shame and sheer amazement battled in his mind as they spun on the dance floor. Someone bumped into Qui-Gon and did not apologise, it was a young humanoid female that giggled in her partner’s arms as they danced away. Obi-Wan’s hand squeezed his own.

“You shouldn’t tarnish your reputation, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon gently admonished. It was true and they both knew it. Obi-Wan, however, tusked. “Who said my reputation was any good to begin with?” he said, his eyes laughing at Qui-Gon and he couldn’t help it - Qui-Gon laughed too. A quiet rumble deep in his chest. Obi-Wan shivered in his arms.

So much laid between them, but still it felt so good to speak with the other Master. Qui-Gon missed him, he realised as they danced gently, if a bit stiffly, neither one daring to fully relax in the other’s embrace. He missed him so much. Obi-Wan’s gentle unobtrusive presence that nothing could quite fill in his absence. Now grown, he carried himself with self-assurance and quiet dignity that he had cultivated along the way. It was so unfamiliar and exciting. Qui-Gon wanted to know more about this man. He opened his mouth to spill so many questions. To sate his ever-growing curiosity. Obi-Wan had been on his mind persistently. And now was right here with him, his eyes calm, if a bit sad. 

He had no right to. Obi-Wan had been right that night on the rooftop to deny him salvation. His teeth clicked together as he closed his mouth. 

The music was coming to an end as Obi-Wan closed the distance between them. Qui-Gon’s heart made a funny flip in his chest. He felt Obi-Wan’s breath next to his ear as he whispered, “Your target is the Zabrak on your right. He’ll soon retire so you might want to hurry.” And with that they separated, Obi-Wan throwing him a wink as the crowd swallowed him, jealously guarding him from Qui-Gon.

People kept on whispering as Qui-Gon’s eyes scanned the room for his mark.  _ Let them whisper _ , he thought. There was just one, whose words would’ve broken through his defenses. One accusing word from Obi-Wan would’ve been enough to strike at the heart of Qui-Gon, but his old Padawan was nothing if not understanding – no accusation or a fleeting insult passed Obi-Wan’s lips. Obi-Wan understood. And Qui-Gon often wondered who of them was lacking courage – the one who had refused to fight or the one who had become the symbol of the fight.

* * *

“That will be all,” Mace nodded to Qui-Gon and Anakin. The latter made a short bow and headed for the exit of the room. Qui-Gon stayed. His eyes unwillingly lingering on to the one empty chair in the circle.

“Master Jinn, anything to add, you have?” Yoda, the damned troll, inquired gently.

“No, nothing, Master.” And Qui-Gon bowed as well. The uncomfortable feeling not leaving him, staying in his chest like a cog in the wrong machine impairing it’s smooth running. It was fear and he had to let it go. But no matter how much he tried with each passing day it grew stronger and stronger despite his best efforts.

Anakin had stopped and was waiting for him. Qui-Gon caught up, hiding his hands in his voluminous sleeves. They walked in silence for a while, each consumed in their own thoughts.

“You worry about him,” Anakin said and he didn’t need to add a name.

One of the good things about Obi-Wan being on the Council was that Qui-Gon could monitor him closely. If before the younger Jedi had been elusive at best, now Qui-Gon got to see him all the time when reporting to the Council. Until a month ago that is.

Obi-Wan had undergone a grueling and dangerous campaign that had stretched for weeks. Ten days ago they had lost all connection to the General and his battalion, Dooku had shared this with Qui-Gon a frown etched on his face.

And Qui-Gon had to contain his urge to find Obi-Wan, that same urge growing more insistent every hour they waited robbed of information. No, he was a Jedi. He would calm himself down and trust the other Master to deal with this on his own. Everything else sounded demeaning to Obi-Wan, he’d tell himself not wanting to admit it also sounded a lot like attachment.

“He was my student, Anakin. Following his progress is a bit like my sworn duty.” Qui-Gon joked feebly, trying to lighten the mood of them both.

Anakin stopped dead in his tracks.

Qui-Gon turned confused and raised an eyebrow at his Padawan. “What is it?”

“You never called him that, you know.” Anakin’s voice had gone all quiet so Qui-Gon could barely make out the words, but they enraged him nevertheless.

He suppressed his emotions but his next words were cold as a winter gust. “I am telling it as it is, Anakin. You are grown now. You should know better.”

Anakin nodded stiffly and none of them brought the subject up for the twelve long and torturous days until General Kenobi’s ship boarded on the Temple’s landing pads.

Qui-Gon was there looking through the transparisteel windows of the gallery above. He knew no more than where to go. The Bond had tugged and he had followed. But now he waited with trepidation as the ship dropped gracefully. The docking ramp was leveled down and the passengers of the ship all exited, one by one. Clones clustered in front of the ship, Qui-Gon feeling his fear spiking harshly. What state was Obi-Wan in, for the Clones to have escorted him all the way to the Temple? Qui-Gon could not make out the other Jedi in the following chaos. He tried for the Bond, but as usual, it felt like shouting at a wall.

There! Finally, the Clones had cleared a path and in between the white shine of armor, he saw the hint of red. Obi-Wan limping was leaning on his second in command. He waved off the concerned clones and their aborted motions to help him with exasperated patience and headed, presumably, to the Healer’s Halls. It was a slow process. Qui-Gon couldn’t tell the damage to the General from his vantage point but it seemed serious – one of his legs was in a hastily built cast and was dragging on the smooth floor. His face looked haggard and even paler than usual. Qui-Gon’s eyes did not leave his small figure until it hid behind the doors of the bay. 

The joy that had overcome him did not leave with the other Jedi. It stayed, washing out the concerns and fears of his yesterday. It was a powerful heady thing he didn’t even try to fight off. Qui-Gon closed his eyes in relief and just felt the waves of this long-forgotten feeling clashing with his serenity. This battle had a simple name.

Love. No,  _ in love _ .

Qui-Gon opened his eyes. He put his hand on the transparisteel, his breath fogging the clear surface. He stood there, in front of the window, for a long, long time.

What a fearsome punishment - to fall in love with the one being in the world, whose hate he deserved.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I could rhyme I'd definitely write a song to [Chibiobiwan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibiobiwan/pseuds/Chibiobiwan) the one and only best beta!

_ He saw a Clone sitting outside of the cantina. Helmet off, hair greying. He looked lost amidst the citizens of Mos Eisley. Taking a sip of the cheap booze, the Clone turned towards Obi-Wan. Unerringly their eyes locked. Obi-Wan, knowing better than to look away, felt the hairs on his arms rise. Fear crawled down his spine, the Force at the ready, any moment- _

_ The Clone looked away first, finished his drink, and put on his helmet. Like a magic trick – he was just another stormtrooper. _

_ Obi-Wan felt sadness grip his heart once more. _

Obi-Wan tried not to make a noise, as Cody set the bone in his leg. It would do no good right now. He usually tried to distance himself from the image the clones had built around the Jedi – the invincible, godlike warriors. But right about now, huddled as they were, hiding from the lashing rain on this jungle planet, this image was the only thing keeping the newer clones calm and collected. They all believed he would get them out of here and would do his kriffing best to try. If only Maul wasn’t on the same planet. Obi-Wan had no illusions that if they met right now, Maul would spare him. The Sith had definitely been targeting Obi-Wan and his battalion for a while now. All due to the fact that Obi-Wan had been a thorn in his side, or at least he hoped he was, foiling the Separatist’s General plans more often than not.

“Almost done, General,” Cody said and after securing the makeshift plastoid cast around the leg, began bandaging it as carefully as he dared.

“Thank you, Cody,” Obi-Wan gritted through his teeth, trying to breathe out the pain.

The rain kept falling in thick sheets outside the cave they had hidden in. The gusts of cold wind brought it inside their hideout, whipping their faces. Obi-Wan was glumly staring at the scenery to distract himself, “You should sleep, I’ll keep the first watch,” he said to Cody. And given Cody’s reluctance, he added, “I can’t sleep yet anyway,” and looked meaningfully at his leg. The clone nodded sharply and retreated to the back of the cave where the rest of the soldiers had made a camp.

Obi-Wan waited for them all to fall asleep, nodding at certain jabs made at his expense and keeping the good humor amongst his men throughout the night. After some time, they had all drifted, even Cody, who during the poor excuse of a dinner had hawkishly kept his eyes on the Jedi, had finally succumbed to his exhaustion and was lightly snoring, his Force signature calmed and muted.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes – all of his other senses still on alert – and softly thumped his head on the rocks. What were they even doing here? How had it gone so wrong? Their ship had been overtaken by those blasted droids, and they had been simply too many of them. Adding Maul to the mix, well they had barely gotten themselves out of there in one piece.

He tried for stillness, to find his center and ground himself in the here and now, but his thoughts kept escaping, his leg twinging – soft and dull now that the painkillers had taken effect. Obi-Wan had to think, kriff it. He had to come up with a plan, while the others rested, as he had no intention to wake Cody for his shift and was grimly resigned to letting them take as much time off as they could. A plan, he had to formulate a plan. And he tried for a while, but came up with nothing. He sighed in frustration. He couldn’t force it into fruition no matter how much he wanted it. He had to relax, but he had to be on guard. He had to rest, to be able to be of any use later on, but he had to lead these men to slaughter tomorrow.

Obi-Wan cursed this blasted war once more and opened his eyes to stare at the piece of the sky the thick clouds had revealed by chance.

Sometimes he wanted to be more like Qui-Gon or Dooku. It was ironic that both his teachers had condemned this war and he had obediently marched with the rest. Had he learned nothing? The bitterness of this last thought surprised even him. If they all had refused to fight? Who would lead then? No, he had to see this through to the awful end.

He also wondered, when he had the time around his hectic schedule, what was Qui-Gon thinking of him now? The older Master was certainly polite and during the whole debacle with Groz, a wall had come down between them, setting something free – a memory of their previous friendship.

And for the rest, well after Vid, the storm in Obi-Wan had subsided. He still loved Qui-Gon, was in love with him in fact, but it was all quiet now. Gentle and impossible. He had carefully locked it inside himself and carried it everywhere. A ray of light in his troubled mind. Somehow back on Arda as Qui-Gon had confessed to having no regrets in training Anakin, the last veil had fallen and Obi-Wan could now see more of the man and less of the teacher. An image he had built in his mind during his years as a padawan to Qui-Gon, had crumbled. A very deceitful image of a man that did not exist.

And yet, his love had persisted even after he had seen the man more than the Master – with all his faults and weaknesses.

But to this day, no matter if he had met the real Qui-Gon or not, he still hurt. What Qui-Gon had done so many years ago was not gone nor forgiven. This hurt was battling with his love and Obi-Wan could not reconcile the two in his mind, so he had strengthened his resolve and throughout the years unwillingly isolated himself, both from the object of his desires and his closest friends. That was also why he had stopped Qui-Gon that night, when he had started to apologize, knowing damn well that if Qui-Gon had done it, he would’ve spilled all his secrets to the Master. He was a coward. Oh, he knew, but attachment such as this was a dangerous thing - the forbidden truth they all hid. He couldn’t do it not knowing how Qui-Gon would’ve reacted. Would he tell the Council? Relieved he had given such Padawan away? Obi-Wan sighed into the night. Attachment was forbidden so he had to reconcile the hurt in his soul - better in this old familiar pain than the unfamiliar one a confession would bring.

Attachment scared Obi-Wan to his very core.

He had tried. Oh, of course, he had tried to let Qui-Gon go and had fallen into the embrace of other men throughout the years. None of it stuck. It was completely useless, his love for the foolish, foolish man was almost as strong as his devotion to the Light it seemed.

There was no time for that now. No time for love in the grips of this war. So Obi-Wan had banished thoughts of Qui-Gon or tried to. Because in moments like this one, peaceful and quiet in a foreign place so much like the man himself – wild and unpredictable, Qui-Gon snuck up on him and Obi-Wan surrendered at least for a while.

But no. Obi-Wan couldn’t move right now, but he couldn’t be standing by idly daydreaming either. He had a plan to formulate. He had to save his men.

* * *

“General,” someone was shaking him by the shoulder. Obi-Wan tried to clear his head, but the fuzziness of sleep stickily clang to him. “General, I’m sorry to wake you,” the voice trailed uncertainly. Cody? Was it Cody? Obi-Wan was at least mildly certain the voice belonged to his Commander. Where were they? He blinked slowly and his vision cleared up a bit. That’s right! The mission, the planet, Maul. It all came back to Obi-Wan like an avalanche. He tried to sit up better, but his leg reminded of itself and Obi-Wan winced. “How long? I am sorry, I shouldn’t have fallen asleep,” he croaked hastily.

“No, sir. It’s okay.” Cody soothed. “I woke and you were still not out of it. I knew you would let me sleep otherwise. Everyone is fine.” 

He didn’t say Obi-Wan had needed the sleep more, but it was there and the Jedi sighed. “I am still very sorry.”

Planless, he had fallen asleep while he should have been protecting his men! Shame burned through him. These men had relied on their General and he had just let them all down, he couldn’t help but assess coldly.

“General,” Cody began once more. “While you were resting we came up with an idea.”

“Excellent,” Obi-Wan tried to stand up, his thoughts racing clicks per second. They had to prepare, share the details with him, he had to pump his system full of painkillers and hopefully, Force willing at least stand up straight without the need of the cast. If he couldn’t fight maybe he could be at least a useful decoy.

Cody pushed him gently down before he could do so. “No disrespect, sir, but you are in no condition to lead us right now.” The rest of the Clones had gathered around, all of them apprehensive, but Obi-Wan could feel their excitement in the Force. “Let us do this for you.” Cody’s voice held a firmness to it the Jedi had rarely heard, usually pointed towards the new recruits that disobeyed. Obi-Wan tried to find in his eyes condemnation and fear but instead found reassurance and warmth. They were his men. And they wanted to do this themselves. Obi-Wan had to let go – the Force whispered it to him. He took a deep breath.  _ Trust in them Kenobi _ .

“Alright then, lead the way, Commander Cody.”

His men cheered.

* * *

“You have the horrible tendency to end up on the dark side of the planet as they say in Alderaan.” Dooku barged into the apartment.

Jumping from the couch, Obi-Wan cursed the day he had, in good spirit, given his old Master access to his rooms. His leg reminded of itself and Obi-Wan winced – two days after bacta it was mostly healed but it still throbbed dully from time to time.

“What?” was all the famed Negotiator could stutter in this state and judging by the elegant arch of Dooku’s eyebrow, his Master wasn’t impressed either.

“The Separatists have been deliberately targeting you specifically, my Padawan.” Not one to beat around the bush, Dooku said calmly.

They both stood there in the room not moving, trying to make sense of the words now that they were in the open.

“Huh,” Obi-Wan nodded slowly.

“Huh?” Dooku looked at him aghast. “I tell you your bounty is probably high enough to afford a small planet.” He said, the word curling menacingly on the ‘t’. ”And all I get from you is indifference?”

“ Reckon I can aim for an Inner Rim one?”

Dooku didn’t move a muscle, not even in irritation.

Obi-Wan sighed – his Master wasn’t going to budge. Mentally preparing himself for a conversation he very much wished to avoid, Obi-Wan motioned to the couch and hobbled to the kitchen. “Tea?” 

“Hardly the time for beverages,” Dooku declined, but when Obi-Wan returned with two cups, took one from him. He encircled it with both hands, uncharacteristically inelegant, Obi-Wan noted, as a kid chasing after the warmth of the drink and hunched over it like an oversized convor. That gesture alone disturbed Obi-Wan more than the news Dooku had brought with him, so he lowered his own cup and looked squarely into Dooku’s piercing eyes.

“What bothers you, Master?”

“Grievous, Maul, and that student of his – Savage,” Dooku spat, “They always appear wherever you go. It is, frankly, too ridiculous to be a coincidence.”

“The Sith has been a move ahead of us, we know that, Master,” Obi-Wan said calmly, feeling like that statement worried Dooku for all the wrong reasons.

“Look,” Dooku took out his datapad and switched it to a projector, laying it on the table in between them. It showed a map of the galaxy. “You were stationed here,” he pointed to a sector and the hologram zoomed on it. “Maul caught up to you, meanwhile Grievous has here,” he zoomed out again and a flashing dot on the planet Ithor appeared. “He fought Master Jerra and her Padawan, sadly both were lost and their bodies laid to rest in the jungles of Ithor.”

Obi-Wan hadn’t known that he gripped his cup feeling the warmth the porcelain had soaked. Master Jerra had been kind to him when he was younger. Had helped him in astronavigation all those years ago, in fact. He hadn’t congratulated her on her Padawan, now he wished he had made the time.

“Meanwhile,” Dooku continued and swiped through the stars, “Skywalker was near Ord Mantell and Corsin, attacking Separatist ships, so why were they not there? No signs of either Sith or a Jedi killer.”

“That was an important mission,” Obi-Wan noticed. Dooku nodded. 

“Well, maybe they missed that? The Sith doesn’t have all the information or at least I’d like to go to sleep deluding myself,” Obi-Wan continued morosely.

“It’s not so simple. Once it’s a coincidence, yes, but several times… It’s a pattern.” That caught Obi-Wan’s attention. “You’ve researched it?”

“It may not matter to the Council but to me it does.” That was as far of a confession Obi-Wan would get, but the warmth was there – Dooku had been concerned for him enough to research his activity, but- 

“Why Anakin?”

Dooku stroked his beard. “Because he always gets away with it. Doesn’t it strike you as odd that from all of the prominent Generals, Anakin is the only one to have never met Grievous?”

“I wouldn’t wish that on anyone,” Obi-Wan muttered subconsciously rubbing his ribs, his last present from the droid general may have healed, but Obi-Wan’s ribs still ached with the memory of it. “But that is not all there is to it,” Obi-Wan guessed. “You’ve always been suspicious of him-“

“Maybe,” Dooku threw the confession between them. “But maybe this time I was right to.”

“What are you saying, Master?”

Dooku looked at the map again, deactivated it, and put it away carefully.

“Someone is looking out for the boy.” He finally said quietly.

Obi-Wan felt chills run down his spine, his fear suddenly spiked in the Force. “You think the Sith…?” he trailed.

“Yes.”

They stared at their cups a while, Obi-Wan’s tea going lukewarm and then, finally cold, like the silence that had fallen into the room.

“Qui-Gon wouldn’t allow it,” Obi-Wan said calmly. Would he? So certain of that prophecy as he was? Could it be Qui-Gon had closed his eyes to the truth staring him in the face?

Dooku snorted and just as suddenly as he had arrived, he rose, leaving his empty teacup on the table. “With all that said, my Padawan, be more careful,” the older Master said without urgency, but the look in his eyes told a different story.

“You too, my Master,” Obi-Wan rose to send him off.

“But, if it’s not what I think,” Dooku stopped at the door – his back to Obi-Wan. “It may be much, much worse.” And with that he was gone, leaving Obi-Wan alone into the room.

The sun was slowly setting, its last rays springing off the ships still in the sky. Obi-Wan just stood there, in the middle of his room, with suddenly very dark thoughts looming over him.

After all, there were never such things as coincidences. If Anakin wasn’t protected by the Sith, he may have already been recruited by the Sith.

The Force remained quiet. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, I made them fight! As usual my endless gratitude towards [Chibiobiwan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibiobiwan/pseuds/Chibiobiwan)

_ Water was more precious than any kyber crystal here in the desert. It took weeks for them to learn how to provide that precious commodity for themselves. Even Beru and Owen refused them the kindness of water. A life they might’ve traded, their weight in gold they might’ve found, a child they hid for them. But to give them water, the Lars’ refused. _

Obi-Wan’s scalp itched uncomfortably and he tried his best not to scratch as he waited for the med droid to finish. He moved his jaw tentatively, the bones of it clicking together. Having your face transformed was probably the most bizarre feeling in the world, he decided.

“Uh, wait,” he called the retreating droid almost desperately. “You forgot the beard,” Obi-Wan added pleadingly. If the droid had brows it would’ve lifted them in retaliation. As it stood, it hovered a bit uncertainly, but thankfully continued to re-grow not only his hair but his beard as well. Obi-Wan slumped a bit in relief. Not one to concern himself with his appearance in simple vanity, he didn’t want the physical reminder of the stunt he and the Council had pulled off with the Rako Hardeen debacle. He already had to deal with the Temple’s uproar at the situation and his supposed death. He certainly was not looking forward to the upcoming weeks of media coverage and Temple gossip he had to face.

He was getting tired of answering to the media and Jedi alike, that yes, he had faked his own death, staged a funeral and gone deep undercover to prevent an assassination of the Chancellor himself. Thankfully, Dooku, as a member of the Council, had known all about the plan. Obi-Wan shivered to think what hell he would’ve had to pay otherwise.

It was enough really.

Obi-Wan realised how much he had abandoned his normal relationship by the number blinking on his transmitter when he had gotten it back from Mace: two messages, three if he counted the Council summon.

Bant had been rightfully upset. Being off Planet, she had sent him a downright scary in its detailed explanation message about how she would make him swear to never ever die if possible. Apparently once was all he got, so he better watch out from now on.

Garen had understood. He too had sent his message. It was a congratulation on a plan well executed. It also reminded him that he was to pay for their drinks for the next ten years for every white hair Garen had now. 

Once the war was over, Obi-Wan resigned to do better by his fellow Jedi. As soon as the war was over.

“Done, Master Jedi,” the robot informed him and Obi-Wan jumped from the bed intent on running as far away from the Healer Halls as he could, possibly from anyone with a pulse as well.

Just as he was headed for the exit, the door whooshed open and Obi-Wan was faced with the hulking figure of Qui-Gon Jinn. A very angry Qui-Gon Jinn.

Obi-Wan hadn’t spent his adolescence deciphering all of the Master’s different faces for nothing after all. Qui-Gon looked composed on the surface, his face a little on the pale side, dark circles underneath his eyes. But all of Obi-Wan’s instincts screamed at him to run. Sadly, Obi-Wan realised two things simultaneously - he had no means of escape and he was, most probably, the reason behind the Master’s ire.

“You are a very hard man to find, Obi-Wan and yet until two days ago it was an easy task to search for the name Obi-Wan Kenobi in the deceased list.” Qui-Gon gritted out. His eyes were stone cold.

Obi-Wan winced. He had nothing to say to that. He also hadn’t expected Qui-Gon of all people to be upset by his stunt.

“What do you nee-“

“You’ve never been a foolish man, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon crowded into his space, slowly. Obi-Wan’s heart began to beat faster for all the wrong reasons. Foolish. Qui-Gon didn’t even raise his voice, but his words pressed on Obi-Wan. Accusing, wounding him. The guilt, he had fought against, raising on the surface. “I had to watch as they laid you in the ground.” It tore out of Qui-Gon’s throat like a curse.

It stopped Obi-Wan’s reeling mind in its tracks.

“Why would you care?” he said before thinking better of it.

It was Qui-Gon’s turn to be confused. “Of course I care!” He said, looking as if Obi-Wan had struck him. “You think so little of me,” he added, his anger evaporating.

The anger that now gripped Obi-Wan.

“You’ve never given me a reason to,” he had the urge to throw hands and be done with it but kept his composure.

Qui-Gon wanted to say more, but Obi-Wan gave him no chance to. Instead, he finally let his tongue loose. “Abandoning me all those years ago was a clear sign, Qui-Gon.”

“You know-,”

“Yes, I do know that it was the only way.” Oh, but it hurt. It hurt to downright admit it. Still, he squashed it all down and continued, “Actions have consequences and I had to come to terms that you couldn't care less for me, and believe me it was not easy. It took me years, you don’t get the right to come in now and start to-,” and just like that Obi-Wan deflated. To what? Why was Qui-Gon here? Did he truly care? Obi-Wan didn’t want to know, it was not enough he realised. That small fear he had grown lovingly – that even if Qui-Gon did care it would never be enough for him to fight for Obi-Wan – bit him in the heart. Oh, he had to get away from this blasted room. He tried to, but Qui-Gon grabbed his arm, his hand searing Obi-Wan through the tunic.

“Obi-Wan.” A plea. “I owe you an explanation it seems.”

An explanation? Obi-Wan fumed. Qui-Gon treated him like a child in need of a scolding. He did not need an explanation, he secretly wished for an apology, but that was off the table it seemed.

“No, you do not. I know what you are about to say.”

It was Qui-Gon’s turn to rage, Obi-Wan recognised it in the pinching of his lips and the sternness in his eyes. He’d rage, but like a Jedi would. This was no lovers’ quarrel. No passion and emotions – the fire was out. This was how Jedi fought with words – dispassionate and cold. Qui-Gon dropped his hand.

“Anakin deserved this chance, you know that.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t take it. When had Qui-Gon last defended him? Put him above all else. No, Qui-Gon had been a good Master. True, they had had a rocky start and a tumorous relationship following. But then, everything had fallen into place and for a moment Obi-Wan had thought… It didn’t matter now.

“You didn’t even come looking for me throughout the years.” Where had that come from? Obi-Wan was momentarily stunned at how much it hurt to admit it.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes as if pained.

“Anakin will bring balance, and I know I have you to thank for it.” The older Master continued.

“You…You think I had a  _ choice _ ?” Obi-Wan was on the verge of laughing now.

“He is the Chosen one, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon’s voice had hardened. It always did when Anakin was involved. Obi-Wan wondered how many times he had had to defend his choices. “But you must know under different circumstances-“

Obi-Wan raised his hand to stop the outpouring of words. He did not want to hear it. It hurt too much. But more importantly, what was he doing? He thought he had gotten over it but at the first chance he got, he had attacked Qui-Gon. Not undeserving maybe, but still, nothing was to be won in this fight.

“No need, I understand Qui-Gon,” he managed to say, at last, controlling his voice. Silence fell, giving Obi-Wan a chance to collect his thoughts.

Qui-Gon too looked as if breaking from a trance, but unlike the calm that had washed over Obi-Wan anguish played on his face.

“I forgive you,” Obi-Wan said finally. That was enough to completely disarm Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan quietly slipped away.

Moving down the corridor Obi-Wan allowed himself to crumble, breathing out raggedly. It was done, but it fixed nothing as a matter of fact it might’ve made it worse. Damn them both. Damn him for using his forgiveness aiming it as a weapon and damn Qui-Gon for accepting it.

“Wait!”

The footsteps startled Obi-Wan. He stiffened as Qui-Gon reached him and with an imperious gesture to follow, headed straight down the path. Miffed, Obi-Wan nevertheless did exactly that, determined to push this to the bitter end and fully prepared to have his forgiveness thrown back at him.

Qui-Gon led him to the first door he found and impatiently slammed the access panel. It was a storage closet. But of course, it was. They were all over the Healer Halls of the Temple.

It was a tight fit in there.

“You don’t get to run away, I’ve allowed you to escape enough times as it is,” Qui-Gon said as he turned to face the other Master, their faces inches apart.

“ _ You _ ’ve allowed me nothing,” Obi-Wan was practically jabbing his finger at the other Master.

“No, Obi-Wan, please.”

Something in that tone gave Obi-Wan pause. It sounded desperate, so instead, he looked at Qui-Gon squarely in the eyes and waited.

“Don’t allow me forgiveness yet, Obi-Wan. I haven’t even apologised!” Qui-Gon lowered his head in defeat. “Please.”

Obi-Wan stared at the infuriating man for a good minute or two, before sighing dejectedly. “Of course it can’t be easy with you.”

“Let me earn it, it is all I’m asking of you. I've done more damage than I dared realise. I had faith in your strength, but it is unfair to have asked of you all.”

“How?” Obi-Wan, now, sounded just as desperate as Qui-Gon.

“After this war, please let me redeem myself in your eyes. Can you wait for me a little while longer?”

With their war stances so different, Obi-Wan knew they’ll be standing on opposite shores for as long as they fought. Not yet, they couldn’t reconcile yet. They were too far apart, but maybe…

“Alright,” Obi-Wan felt himself nodding to it. “So be it.”

Qui-Gon’s hand hovered in the air, for a moment it looked as though he might squeeze Obi-Wan’s shoulder, but he put it down quickly. “Thank you.”

Obi-Wan had no such qualms and laid his own hand on the older Master’s chest, gently pushing him back. “Go now, Master Jinn before the Healers start speculating,” he said and it almost sounded like a normal jab.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chibiobiwan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibiobiwan/pseuds/Chibiobiwan) has my heart, even though she was busy she took the time to go over this chapter and for that, I am eternally grateful, also I love her very much <3

_The first storm they lived through was unforgettable. It felt as if all the peace and quiet the desert had to offer turned against them and with a sharp howl the planet despised them. Obi-Wan could not see, could only feel as the wind scratched at the thin walls of their insufficient hideout._

_Raw as he felt, the storm in his soul was fiercer._

Qui-Gon’s quarters had been empty for almost three years now and he felt them all at once as he closed the door. It was in the dance of the dust speckles in the rays of the weak Coruscanti sun. It had settled on the unused cutlery in the drawers. But most of all it crept in the silence that Qui-Gon these days welcomed as a familiar stranger.

Having Obi-Wan in here, this neutral space he had been inhabiting for so long, was a surreal experience.

Obi-Wan looked over and Qui-Gon could pinpoint moments when the younger Master would sink in unexpected melancholy for his eyes, would soften. There, an imperceptible twitch of the mouth and Qui-Gon got over the shock of having his heart walk into his rooms unannounced and head for the small kitchenette.

Obi-Wan did not move in to help, did not push him out of the way with a tsk and a mutter condemning all old foolish Masters. He sat like a guest on the couch and once the water had been settled to boil, Qui-Gon recognized his manners had been erected like a buffer towards the on pour of memories – his back straight, hands on his knees. Qui-Gon ached at the sight.

The water boiled and Qui-Gon had no more excuses, so he settled the teapot and cups onto the table. Once, Obi-Wan had spilled this exact teapot all over himself as he had tipped it over carelessly when he was fourteen. That Padawan had known the shape of these cups and how they laid in his hands for they had spent many nights musing about the universe over them.

The Master just waited politely for his tea to be served.

“What’s happened,” Qui-Gon sat down, bumping his knees on the table. He took his cup and finally looked at Obi-Wan.

He was pale and thin. Big bruises underneath his dull eyes – back from a campaign then.

“You said that time,” Obi-Wan began uncharacteristically without poise or grace. “You said you’d…” he struggled as if unaccustomed to such a notion. It hurt Qui-Gon.

“Yes,” he said simply. “Anything.”

“I’d do it myself if I could,” Obi-Wan seemed to relax now that Qui-Gon had agreed as if he had expected for his former Master to deny him. Of course, Qui-Gon knew now – he deserved that.

“Obi-Wan, what is it?”

The younger Master sighed and leaned forward. “Two days ago we took off of Ruma, but not all of us managed to get on board. Qui-Gon, we left someone behind. They saw him and I couldn’t…I had to report it”

Qui-Gon considered the implications morosely staring at the murky liquid in his cup. His expression stared back – surly and exhausted. “Did he…?” Qui-Gon trailed not wanting to say it out loud and condemn the poor soul when Obi-Wan hadn’t.

“I don’t know, but I can’t go to search for him, especially if he is a deserter,” Obi-Wan said blankly, but Qui-Gon knew he cared. More than that, after all, he’d come to him of all people. And he also knew as a General in the GAR Obi-Wan couldn’t just abandon his post and escape in search of one soldier, who had most likely disobeyed orders.

“I’ll find the soldier, but if he has deserted this madness I shan’t make him come back,” Qui-Gon warned.

Obi-Wan relaxed visibly, the tension leaking off of him slowly. He almost seemed to be back in his place on the sofa as he had so many years ago – sitting down after a busy day to engulf himself into his datapad and occasionally ask his Master a question until Qui-Gon would interrupt his quiet contemplations and send him off to bed. “There is already a warrant issued for him, I just…don’t think him possible of such a thing, please make sure -” Obi-Wan stopped and sank into his thoughts.

“Alright,” He’d agree to anything really, in this fleeting moment, as Obi-Wan laid his insecurities in front of him.

With a nod, Obi-Wan stood up, leaving a datachip for Qui-Gon on the table. Taking it in his hands Qui-Gon noticed the younger Master hadn’t touched his tea and mourned. Before Obi-Wan exited, however, he stopped. “Thank you,” he almost whispered and with that, he left.

Qui-Gon stared after his shadow for a long time. The words Obi-Wan had said echoing in the silence. Something in Qui-Gon sparked and he could, for the first time in a long while, feel hope. He wanted to crush it – attachment, no love, could never be. And yet his traitorous heart rejoiced.

* * *

Qui-Gon feet sank in the soil as he stepped off the ship. The feeling of it odd, even though from above, the ground had looked deceptively firm and dry. Qui-Gon marveled at it for a moment stretching his senses out in every direction. The Living Force on Ruma rushed to overwhelm his mind even if it looked desolate and inhabitable to the normal observer. There were no plants or trees anywhere in sight but if he were to upturn any stone, Qui-Gon was certain he would find many creatures wiggling their way out from beneath.

The relief he felt was short-lived for he had no idea if there was a natural water source around this area and briefly entertained the thought that his target might already be dead of dehydration. He fervently hoped he hadn’t come just to bury the Clone and made his way east for the battlefield that even now, a few days later, was easy to spot.

The smoke and the despair in the Force gave it away, an inky black spot it that had soiled the land around. Qui-Gon sighed and kept on moving beneath the mild sun. If he were correct the Clone would have already relocated somewhere else but it was a good place to start as any. He neared the place and was met with the stench of the battle.

Qui-Gon bent down and closed the eyes of a dead Clone – his helmet had gotten lost and it was hard to ignore the empty stare. He lingered there, his thoughts dark as the fumes in the air. He didn’t know anything about this Clone, but he had been young – they all were 

This was a catastrophe like any other battlefield, but it never ceased to disturb Qui-Gon profoundly. With the Clones, it was even worse – the fault falling squarely on the Republic.

Qui-Gon sensed motion and immediately his hand found his sabre. The Clone that came out of the smoke stared at him for a few seconds in surprise and then proceeded to completely ignore him as he took the corpse Qui-Gon had just been next to underneath the armpits and dragged him away, the smoke covering his retreating form. From afar he looked like a mythological creature – a reaper sent to avenge his brothers or collect their souls. 

Intrigued, Qui-Gon followed.

The Clone kept on struggling to drag his brother, perspiration covering his brow now. The dead soldier in his arms leaving a trail in the soft soil. The Clone had no tattoos so common with his brothers and had not dyed his hair keeping it dark. He looked…like all of them did and Qui-Gon had never felt worse for the Clones as he did at that moment observing the desperate soldier.

Gently, he lifted the body off the ground with the Force.

The Clone stopped and finally acknowledged him. He huffed and muttered something under his nose but waved for Qui-Gon and turned towards his destination walking briskly.

They didn’t talk because the dead didn’t listen.

The Clone stopped a good distance from where the battle had happened. Qui-Gon put his brother down and kept his demeanor mild so as not to scare his target.

He looked around, the ground was littered with large freshly dug mounds. It didn’t take much for Qui-Gon to understand even before the Clone kneeled nearby with a battered helm in hand and started digging in the soft soil.

“Are you just going to stand there? The helms are scattered everywhere,” the Clone dug energetically, piling the red soil behind himself.

Qui-Gon lingered for a bit, taken aback by the rudeness displayed by the Clone, but at this point in the war, Qui-Gon had already gotten used to being looked down upon so it bemused him more than anything. With a slight twitch of the mouth, the Jedi bent down to pick one of the plastoid helms.

“No, not that one!” The Clone had stopped his work and was finally paying attention to his surroundings. “That was Bate’s tin can. Use another,” he finished gruffly and Qui-Gon knew the Clone would fight him if he continued, so he wandered back, found another, picked it, and looked back at his companion, who was desperately pretending not to follow his every step.

“It’ll do.”

With permission granted, Qui-Gon came back and shoulder to shoulder with the Clone they both kept on digging the shallow grave.

“I couldn’t leave him,” the Clone broke the silence. Up to his knees in the hole, Qui-Gon turned silently to look at the soldier. “I saw him get shot and well, all I could think of was Eight, he needs a proper burial. So I couldn’t just…”

Scoop, throw, scoop throw. It went on for a while.

“And then I saw the rest and had a feeling it ain’t fair. They got someone that loved them too. So I started digging.”

Qui-Gon said nothing, keenly feeling the loss saturating the Clone.

“It’s funny really,” The Clone laughed as Qui-Gon plunged in the helmet into the ground with difficulty, wiggling it to get as much of the dirt into it. “Clones shouldn’t have been created to feel love, it’s useless to them.”

Qui-Gon straightened and disposed of his load. “It’s never useless,” he parried.

“You’re the one to speak. Aren’t Jedi forbidden attachments?” Point for the Clone. 

Still, Qui-Gon tried one last desperate lunge. “We can love,” he threw the dirt onto the pile, the wind picking it up and painting the air in red.” Just not live in it.”

Then why was he here?

“Hah, Love is a temperamental guest, she comes easily but doesn’t want to leave.”

“Waxing poetic is a hobby of yours?” Qui-Gon asked coldly. The Clone was walking on the thin ice of Qui-Gon’s denial and he didn’t want to see the cracks in it.

The Clone threw his head back and guffawed. “My, Ricka just took your tongue, Jedi, and made you speak his words,” he laughed again, but the laughter froze on his lips soon enough and the grief came back. “Ricka kept on telling me such things you know before he…” The Clone looked away.

Scoop, throw scoop, throw.

They finished soon enough and together respectfully laid the Clone to his final rest.

“So why Eight?” Qui-Gon said, having felt the desperation spreading over the mind of the Clone, standing next to him.

“Well my number starts with eight, not very imaginative, mind you but then again that’s me, you might say that is my unique trait.” Eight rubbed his hands together, surveying their work. “Are you going to help me then or arrest me, Master Jedi?”

“Are you going to come back with me?”

Eight absorbed the question in silence then turned his head to the distant horizon. “Without Ricka I don’t…funny how he had to die for me to gather up the courage. You know what Jedi, I think I’ll fight you if you try to arrest me.”

Qui-Gon nodded once and bent down to pick up his helmet.

* * *

It took them two days of hard work, but together they managed to bury all of the fallen Clones. Qui-Gon dropped Eight on Sullust and commned Mace to inform him he had lost his ship and had to be picked up.

On the way back to Coruscant Eight and his partner did not leave his thoughts. He wondered what it would feel like to lose Obi-Wan now that he knew he loved him.

But then he realised he might have already done that himself so many years ago. He stood no chance of ever gaining the trust he had given up that day. But Obi-Wan was willing to look his way one more time and he had latched onto it with desperation. Did that make him weak? Would he die for forgiveness?

The ship jostled him and he hit his head in the wall, rattling his teeth. Mace had deliberately chosen the worst carrier and the cheapest cabin, but right now Qui-Gon couldn’t care less – his thoughts a much worse punishment.

He would.

Qui-Gon stood up and found himself pacing, trying to fight the itch of fear as it threatened to consume him. He spun in the tight space for the hour it took to reach the capital. Three steps, spin, three steps spin.

He didn’t fear death that much he understood. But he prayed to non-existing gods no one would ever know he would crawl through hell for one more chance. The war had taken a backseat to the wellbeing of one precious soul in the universe. And he tried to fight and deny that knowledge.

* * *

The ship landed in the spaceports of Coruscant – so far away from the Temple, Qui-Gon couldn’t even make the imposing building out on the smoky horizon. He sighed and with a heavy heart and anxious feet headed for his home, feeling like he did not belong there – an outcast with a terrible secret.

“Master Jinn?”

Qui-Gon startled as he recognised his own name in the chaos surrounding him. He stopped and waited for the all too familiar form of a Clone in full armour to catch up with him.

“Lieutenant Waxer,” Qui-Gon nodded politely.

The Clone stopped in his tracks. “Sir?”

Qui-Gon raised his brow, amusement tickling his lips. “It’s the Force, Lieutenant, it’s the Force.”

Waxer did not look convinced as he tried to keep up with the Jedi’s long stride, the little trick of recognising him from his brother’s without taking off his helmet, clearly putting him ill at ease.

“Did General Kenobi send you?”

The following silence soaked up with guilt. They just walked for a while.

“Tell the General I have not brought him gifts this time, but I did lose my ship,” Qui-Gon said unperturbed as Waxer almost tripped at the uncharacteristic request.

“Is-Is that all, Sir?”

Qui-Gon walked in silence for a while, just thinking. What more could he add? _Take care? I’ve realised I miss your presence that nothing else could fill? These last few hours have been an agonising reminder of what I have done?_

“That is all, Lieutenant.” He said calmly in the end and the Clone disappeared into one of the retreating alleyways to sneak into the barracks and comm his General.

* * *

In the end, by the time he reached the Temple Qui-Gon had found a modicum of peace – a truce with himself, a vow to learn to live with these new feelings brewing inside of him. It was hard -- he had to get used to another type of war but somehow peace had found him in the middle of the busy streets and he could breathe a little bit easier.

“Master,” Anakin met him at the grand entrance of the Temple, clearly worried. “Where did you go? Master Windu wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“It’s okay Anakin, I was given a request from the Council,” Qui-Gon said, guilt stabbing him in the heart. Anakin, though, stopped with the questions, knowing full well what that meant – a secret mission he could not ask about.

And in a way it was. But the fact that he would lie to his Padawan was even worse than hiding from the Temple.

Obi-Wan.

“Come Anakin,” Qui-Gon beckoned his student. Anakin followed with no hesitation, but curiosity always won against Anakin’s serenity so he couldn’t hold himself and a couple of minutes, and a few corridors later he asked: “What are you doing Master?”

Qui-Gon smiled. Something had solidified during his trip to Ruma and back, he might not know what to do about Obi-Wan, but there was one thing he could throw all of his energy into. Something he could do for all of them and in a way the others refused to see. “We are going to end this war,” he said with the confidence he was beginning to feel.


End file.
